"You dassent leave me--you dassent!"
"Listen, people are starving in Matanzas; they are sick; they are
dying in the streets."
"I don't eat much."
When Johnnie shook his head stubbornly Jacket launched himself
into a torrent of profanity the violence of which dried his tears.
His vocabulary was surprising. He reviled the Spaniards, O'Reilly,
himself, everybody and everything; he leveled anathemas at that
woman who had come between him and his beloved benefactor. The
latter listened good-naturedly.
"You're a tough kid," he laughed, when Jacket's first rage had
worn itself out. "I like you, and I'd take you if I could. But
this isn't an enterprise for a boy, and it won't get you anything
to keep up this racket."
Jacket next tried the power of argument. He attempted to prove
that in a hazardous undertaking of this sort his assistance would
be invaluable. He was, so he declared, the one person in all Cuba
in every respect qualified to share O'Reilly's perils. To begin
with, he was not afraid of Spaniards, or anything else, for that
matter--he dismissed the subject of personal courage with a
contemptuous shrug. As for cunning, sagacity, prudence, resource,
all-around worth, he was, without doubt, unequaled in any country.
He was a veritable Spartan, too, when it came to hardship--
privation and suffering were almost to his liking.
Pages:
329
330
331
332
333
334
335
336
337
338
339
340
341
342
343
344
345
346
347
348
349
350
351
352
353