"To nuss? Ain't there enough nussin' you can do nearer home?"
Maria-Ann looked up with tear-reddened eyes. "I did n't think so--" a
sob--"till I saw you, Chi. I did n't know you--I thought I 'd begin
right now, before I got there--" her hands covered her eyes again.
Chi's trembling ones, weak from the fever, drew her cold ones down from
her face.
"You did just right, Marier-Ann, to want to begin right now.--The
Barton's River train is due to start from here in fifteen
minutes;--s'posin' you give up Cuby, 'n' come along home, 'n' try
nussin' me. I need it bad enough."
"Oh, Chi, do you mean it?" Maria-Ann caught her breath.
"You bet I do," said Chi, emphatically, "only"--he paused and took up
the plate from her lap, spilling the coffee, for the trembling of his
hand had increased--"if you 're goin' to undertake it with me, it's got
to be a life job, Marier-Ann."
The flies continued to buzz on the smoke-thickened panes. The train for
Barton's River steamed in from the siding. The couple in the
waiting-room boarded it. The porter watched them with a queer smile.
Then he took up the plate of uneaten doughnuts and the cup of cooled
coffee, and handed them to the girl behind the counter.
"She ain't eat 'em, after all," she said. "She acted kinder queer for a
Red Cross nurse."
"He's the chap I give the telegram to when he got here on the up-train
last night."
"What was it?"
"Twenty-five cent one from Barton's River--'M.A. starts for Cuba
Thursday stop her at Junction.'"
The girl laughed, and the restaurant filled again.