WAR
as when he was three years old, "tell your anxious old daddy what's the matter—what are you going to do?" and held out my arms—so.
My Dave smiled, almost as of old, hesitated a little, then came down and we put our arms about each other and hugged, just like when he was a little boy. And we talked nearly as we used to talk then—baby talk!
"I love you, daddy," Dave said, and rubbed his soft cheek close against mine—impulsive like.
"I love you more, Davy," I said.
"You can't prove it," laughs Dave. "I can."
"Let's see your proof," says I.
"In the morning," says he. "And, then, tell Jon about to-night. For, we both love him more! I'll prove it in the morning."
We just held each other a while, and looked into each other's eyes. He had scared me.
"Davy," I says, "when you were little and we talked baby talk, you told me everything. Don't have a secret from me now. Why are you so strange? What are you going to do?"
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