not any love fur me, now, lad. But if I loves yer jes’ the same, Jimmie———”
“Yer can’t!”
“Jim, d’yer remember when we wus jes’ little chaps———”
Randal turned away from the murmur as Ted’s head went down on the bag pillow beside Jimmie’s. He walked to the window, looking out on the open bar across the street. It was foul with drunken laughter and noise of quarrelling, and vivid with the gleam of angry white faces mixed with the yellow. Beyond lay God’s own stars on the peaceful breast of Heaven, and behind a soul was struggling to bridge the gulf between.
Then Ted called sharply. Randal came with swiftness, and did all that he could. But Jimmie’s arm was hooked round Ted’s neck, and nothing would loose it until the end came. Then it was Randal who laid him back on the bags.
“You did more for him than any priest could have done, Ted,” he said. “Now you’ll let me patch up that side of yours. D’you think I didn’t see blood on your shirt?”
Ted did not hear. He went through all that was necessary with unshaking hands. Then he stood up.
“It’s nothing but a scratch,” he said. “Good-night, Randal, and thank yer. I’m goin’ ter stay wi’ him.”
