"Next month."
"Where are you going?"
"To San Francisco."
"America! America!" came the hissing whisper. "They'll kill you in America." And the head sank back on the pillow.
There was a long silence.
"Going to America! Going to America! After he's killed me here," came the whispered moan.
"No, I haven't killed you. I'm only awfully sorry—"
"You have! You have!" shouted Kangaroo, in the loud, bellowing voice that frightened Richard nearly out of the window. "Don't lie, you have—"
The door opened swiftly and Jack, very stern-faced, entered. He looked at Somers in anger and contempt, then went to the bedside. The nurse hovered in the doorway with an anxious face.
"What is it, 'Roo?" said Jack, in a voice of infinite tenderness, that made Somers shiver inside his skin. "What's wrong, Chief, what's wrong, dear old man?"
Kangaroo turned his face and looked at Somers vindictively.
"That man's killed me," he said in a distinct voice.
"No, I think you're wrong there, old man," said Jack. "Mr Somers has never done anything like that. Let me give you a morphia injection, to ease you, won't you?"
"Leave me alone." Then, in a fretful, vague voice: "I wanted him to love me."
"I'm sure he loves you, 'Roo—sure he does."
"Ask him."
Jack looked at Richard and made him a sharp, angry sign with his brows, as if bidding him comply.
"You love our one-and-only Kangaroo all right, don't you, Mr Somers?" he said in a manly, take-it-for-granted voice.
"I have an immense regard for him," muttered Richard.
"Regard! I should think so. We've got more than regard. I love the man—love him—love him I do. Don't I, 'Roo?"
But Kangaroo had sunk down, and his face had gone small, he was oblivious again.
"I want nurse," he whispered.
