"Good--for you," he whispered.
"Are you--does it hurt much, Patsy?" asked Fosgill.
"No, not much."
"That's good. We'll have you out before long."
Patsy grinned.
"Shut up!" he whispered. "You can't--fool me, Bull. I'm--a goner."
Fosgill muttered something and Patsy's eyes brightened.
"Bull," he whispered, "do you--think I--had a mother--like--other kids?"
"I know you did, Patsy."
"That's good," sighed the kid happily. "I guess--may be--I'll see
her--where--I'm goin'."
"You saved my life, Patsy," muttered Fosgill, "and there isn't a thing I
can do for you. I wish--oh, it's a shame, kid!"
"Huh! I'm glad--Bull. I'd--'a' done most anything--for you, Bull. You've
been good--to me; so's the--others." He closed his eyes wearily for a
moment. Then, "Do you think," he asked slowly, "I could--have learned--to
put--the shot, Bull--some day?"
"Yes," answered Fosgill sturdily. "You had the making of a great shot
putter, Patsy. You'd have made a record for yourself, I'll bet!"
"Are you--kiddin'--me, Bull?"
"No, Patsy. I'll leave it to the others. Isn't it so, fellows?"
We nodded vehemently, and Patsy closed his eyes with a smile of ineffable
content on his little face. Presently the eyes flickered open again.
"Anyhow," he said quite strongly and with an approach to his old air of
self-importance, "anyhow--I guess I won--for Harvard--to-day. Huh?"
"Yes, you did, Patsy," answered Fosgill. "We've got you to thank for it,
dear little kid."
Patsy smiled. Then:
"Good-by--Bull," he said very softly. His eyes half closed.
We waited in silence while the moments crept by, but Patsy didn't speak
again.