Her husband
was there and he was haggard with sympathy and alarm, a very elephant
in terror. He was less courteous than usual to Kedzie and he left the
room at his wife's signal. Mrs. Dyckman was more gentle than ever.
"Draw your chair up close, my child," she whispered. "I want to have
a little talk with you and my voice is weak."
Kedzie was alarmed enough to revert to a simple phrase; "I'm awfully
sorry you're sick. Are you very sick?"
"Very. There's such a lot of me, you know. It's disgusting. I've
scared my poor husband to death. I'm glad Jim isn't here to be
worried. I hope I'll not have to send for him. But I'd like to."
Kedzie felt a little quiver of alarm. She did not quite want Jim
to come back just yet. She had grown used to his absence. His return
would deprive poor Jakie of solace.
Mrs. Dyckman took Kedzie's hand and stared at her sadly.
"You're looking a little tired, my dear, if you'll forgive me for
being frank. I'm very old and I very much want you and Jim to win
out. Lying here I take things too anxiously, I suppose, but--I'm
frightened. I don't want my boy and you to go the way so many other
couples do. He's left you because his country needed him, or thought
it did. It wouldn't look well to have him come back and find that
in his absence you had forgotten him. Now, would it?"
"Why, Mrs. Dyckman!" Kedzie gasped, getting her hand away.
Mrs. Dyckman groped for it and took it back. "Don't be vexed.
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