I'm trying so hard to concentrate.
It would be different if I were an experienced writer. But I'm a
terrible duffer, you know. The least little thing throws me off.
I--"
"I wouldn't interfere for the world, Courtney. I will wait. I don't
want to bother you. Please don't think about reading it to me now.
But,--oh, Courtney, I have wanted to see you so much. You WILL come
over, won't you. Or would you rather have me come--"
"I'll be over, Rosie,--tomorrow," he said hastily. "Or the day
after, sure. I'm all done up. I can hardly stand on this leg. Did
they tell you? I chased the robber up through the woods. Had a bad
fall. Bunged up this rotten old knee again."
"You poor boy," she cried. "Yes, I heard them talking about how
brave you were. And he shot at you, too. I saw the plaster on your
face when the light shone on it a while ago. I was frightened. I
forgot to ask you how bad it is. I forgot everything but--but just
speaking to you. Is it dangerous? Is it a bad wound?"
"I don't know. The doctor is waiting for me up at Miss Crown's.
They sent me back, the other fellows did. I wanted to go with the
gang,--but I was weak and--Oh, I'll be all right. Don't you worry,
little girl. Dr. Smith may slap me into bed,--"
"You must not be foolish, Courtney. Do what the doctor says. You
must get well--oh, you MUST get well!"
She had come quite close to him and was peering at his face.
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