Читать книгу Kidnapped in the Jungle - Percy Keese Fitzhugh - Страница 7

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Hal burst into his stateroom fifteen minutes later, armed with milk and sandwiches and fruit. A sleepy steward and he had stormed the kitchen successfully and Coly, already in bed, smiled wanly at the savory results.

“Hope I can do justice to ’em, Hal,” he said wearily.

“What do you mean—do justice to ’em!” Hal countered gaily as he set down the heavily laden tray on the night table.

Coly looked earnestly at his friend. “I mean I feel so fagged that I can’t tell anything about myself. One second I think I’m so hungry and tired that I’m sick, and the next second I think I’m sick of being hungry and tired.”

Hal grinned. “Then that means that all you need to do is to cram this stuff and then get down to your forty winks. You’ll be fine and fit in the morning.”

Coly’s brave but feeble attempts to do justice to the food that Hal had brought him were rather a failure. He seemed not to have any appetite now that food was at hand and there was a queer, restless expression in his eyes as he smilingly refused a bit of luscious fruit from Hal’s hands. Moreover, he had two deep red spots on his cheeks and his voice was husky when he talked.

“No hard feelings, Hal—guess I’m more tired than hungry.”

“Guess you are, old bird,” said Hal, shaking him by the shoulder lightly, and laughing. “And don’t worry about my feelings—this stuff will never go to waste when little Hal’s around. Now go to sleep and don’t think of my feelings or anybody else’s.”

Coly smiled gratefully and closed his eyes. Hal stood and watched him a moment and a look of apprehension settled on his features, a look which ill consorted with his former gay bearing and optimistic prophecies. Then with sudden decision he leaned over and felt the dozing young man’s forehead.

It was feverish.

“Coly,” he said softly, “do you still feel fagged?”

Young Walters slowly opened his eyes. “Rather,” he said feebly, “I’m chilly and....” Suddenly his eyes widened thoughtfully, “Say, Hal, it would be awful if I was to get sick or anything like that now, huh? Why, it’s my only chance....”

“Don’t be thinking of that now, kiddo,” Hal said cheerfully. “I just think maybe you ought to have the doctor look you over. You might have caught cold with all your trouble since last night. And down in that hold today you might have.... Suppose I run out and get the doctor?”

Coly smiled. “Just as you say, Hal.”

And Hal said, “That’s just what I say.”

About dawn the ship’s doctor stood talking to Hal at the stateroom door. “I’ll be back in a few minutes with a nurse,” he was saying. “Meanwhile you can pick up your belongings and get the purser to assign you to another room. He’s a pretty sick young fellow, Keen. And he’s going to be worse—pneumonia. I doubt if he’ll be out of his delirium when we land. You had better get some sleep.”

Hal went back to Coly’s bedside for a moment. The young man was tossing fretfully with fever and muttering to himself. Now and then his burning gaze rested on the watcher and there was a pleading look in his eyes. Once he spoke aloud.

“It’s my only chance,” he said thickly. “My only chance ... Hal’s carrying on for a friend, for me ... it’s my only....”

That was all. He dropped into a heavy, labored sleep after that and Hal tiptoed around the room gathering up his things. A strange feeling of detachment seized him—a sudden feeling of remoteness from Coly had developed, for the delirium had made a gaping chasm in their plans and hopes. The doctor’s pronouncement helped to widen it still more, for even the remembrance of his words sounded like a death knell.

Suddenly something welled up in Hal. What had made Coly say that about carrying on—carrying on for a friend? Oh yes, he remembered. It had been about the snack, the food that he was too sick to eat. He gulped with embarrassment—he was near to shedding real salt tears at that moment and yet his young man’s breast was firm with resolve.

He would carry on for Coly—that he would!