" Once more his senses
drifted, slept.
* * * * *
In the morning Po Lun brought a cup of broth and fed him with a spoon.
"Long time you been plenty sick," the Chinaman replied to his
interrogation.
"Where's Alice?"
"She go 'sleep 'bout daylight.... She plenty ti'ed. Ebely night she sit
up while you talk clazy talk."
"You mean I've been delirious, Po Lun?"
The Chinese nodded. "You get well now plitty soon," he said soothingly
and, with the empty cup, stole softly out. After a time Alice came,
rejoiced to find him awake. The boy, on his way to school, poked a
bright morning face in at the door and called out, "Hello, dad! Better,
ain't you?"
"Yes, Robert," said Benito. When the boy had gone he turned to Alice.
"How long have I been ill?"
"Less than a fortnight--though it seems an age." She took his hand and
cried a little. But they were happy tears. He stroked her hair with a
hand that seemed strangely heavy.
* * * * *
Three weeks later, hollow-eyed, a little shaky, but eager to be back at
work, Benito returned to his office. A press of work engaged him through
the morning hours.
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