Dannie was not having a good time himself. Since Jimmy's wedding,
life had been all grind to Dannie, but he kept his reason,
accepted his lot, and ground his grist with patience and such
cheer as few men could have summoned to the aid of so poor a
cause. Had there been any one to notice it, Dannie was tired and
heat-ridden also, but as always, Dannie sank self, and labored
uncomplainingly with Jimmy's problems. On a burning August
morning Dannie went to breakfast, and found Mary white and
nervous, little prepared to eat, and no sign of Jimmy.
"Jimmy sleeping?" he asked.
"I don't know where Jimmy is," Mary answered coldly.
"Since when?" asked Dannie, gulping coffee, and taking hasty
bites, for he had begun his breakfast supposing that Jimmy would
come presently.
"He left as soon as you went home last night," she said, "and he
has not come back yet."
Dannie did not know what to say. Loyal to the bone to Jimmy,
loving each hair on the head of Mary Malone, and she worn and
neglected; the problem was heartbreaking in any solution he
attempted, and he felt none too well himself. He arose hastily,
muttering something about getting the work done. He brought in
wood and water, and asked if there was anything more he could do.
"Sure!" said Mary, in a calm, even voice.
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