Indeed, it made him squirm to remember how in his farewell in the
orchard he had held her hand in gentle pity for her foolish and all
too evident infatuation for his exalted and superior self. His groan of
self-disgust he hastily merged into a cough, for the Sergeant had his
eyes upon him. Indeed, the Sergeant did not help his state of mind, for
he persisted in executing a continuous fugue of ecstatic praise of Nurse
Haley in various keys and tempos, her pluck, her cleverness, her skill,
her patience, her jolly laugh, her voice, her eyes. To her eyes the
Sergeant ever kept harking back as to the main motif of his fugue, till
Cameron would have dearly loved to chuck him and his fugue out of doors.
He was saved from deeds of desperate violence by a voice at the door.
"Letta fo' Mis Camelon!"
"Hello, Cameron!" exclaimed the Sergeant, handing him the note. "You're
in luck." There was no mistaking the jealousy in the Sergeant's voice.
"Oh, hang it!" said Cameron as he read the note.
"What's up?"
"Tea!"
"Who?" enquired the Sergeant eagerly.
"Me. I say, you go in my place."
The Sergeant swore at him frankly and earnestly.
"All right John," said Cameron rather ungraciously.
"You come?" enquired the Chinaman.
"Yes, I'll come."
"All lite!" said John, turning away with his message.
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