"I'm afraid
we've lost our influence over him. And yet I can't bear for Dr. Adair to
tell him. He's so stern and says such dreadful things. Do you know he
actually was heartless enough to tell Mac that he had brought a great
deal of this trouble on himself!"
Nance slipped her hand through Mrs. Clarke's arm, and patted it
reassuringly. She had come to have a sort of pitying regard for this
terror-stricken mother during these days of anxious waiting.
"I wonder if you would be willing to tell him?" Mrs. Clarke asked,
looking at her appealingly. "Maybe you could make him understand without
frightening him."
"I'll try," said Nance, with ready sympathy.
The opportunity came one day in the following week when the regular day
nurse was off duty. She found Mac alone, propped up in bed, and
tremendously glad to see her. To a less experienced person the
brilliancy of his eyes and the color in his cheeks would have meant
returning health, but to Nance they were danger signals that nerved her
to her task.
"I hear you are going home next week," she said, resting her crossed arms
on the foot of his bed. "Going to be good and take care of yourself?"
"Not on your life!" cried Mac, gaily, searching under his pillow for his
cigarette case. "The lid's been on for a month, and it's coming off with
a bang. I intend to shoot the first person that mentions health to me."
"Fire away then," said Nance. "I'm it. I've come to hand you out a nice
little bunch of advice.
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