Jock said "No—" without thinking. He was cold, very cold all over, and
shivering, but he had not found it out.
"Feel queer?" Jock nodded this time. "Want something to eat?" Jock
shook his head.
"Ah, well—never mind. You'll soon be hungry—a little chap like you! If
you were seventy years old, now, that would make a difference."
Jock could not help smiling.
"Had to say a lot of good-byes this morning?"
One good-bye, not a lot. At least, the lot did not count. But Jock
could not say this.
Mr. Royle stood up, letting his wraps slide down on the floor.