So she
looked down at the jug.
"Dick said--but the jug is full practically. I don't understand how--"
"It isn't as full as it ought to be; it lacks one swallow." He eyed it
queerly. "I wish I knew how much it would lack by dark," he said.
She threw out an impulsive hand. "Oh, but you must make up your mind!
You mustn't temporize like that, or wonder--or--"
"This," he interrupted rather flippantly, "is something little girls
can't understand. They'd better not try. This isn't a woman's problem,
to be solved by argument. It's a man's fight!"
"But if you would just make up your mind, you could win."
"Could I?" His tone was amusedly skeptical, but his eyes were still
somber.
"Even a woman," she said impatiently, "knows that is not the way to win
a fight--to send for the enemy and give him all your weapons, and a plan
of the fortifications, and the password; when you know there's no mercy
to be hoped for!"
He smiled at her simile, and at her earnestness also, perhaps; but that
black gloom remained, looking out of his eyes.
"What made you send for it? A whole gallon!"
"I didn't send for it.
Pages:
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180