He was
discreet--discretion was something he had inherited; he was a
diplomat--diplomacy being one of his most unique accomplishments.
As for this talk about hunger, O'Reilly need not concern himself
in the least on that score, for Jacket was a small eater and could
grow fat on a diet of dead leaves. Disease? Bah! It made him
laugh. His experience with sickness was wider than most fisicos,
and he was a better nurse than Miss Evans would ever be. Jacket
did not wish to appear in the least boastful. On the contrary, he
was actually too modest, as his friends could attest, but truth
compelled him to admit that he was just the man for O'Reilly. He
found it impossible to recommend himself too highly; to save his
soul, he could think of no qualification in which he was lacking
and could see no reason why his benefactor would not greatly
profit by the free use of his amazing talents. The enterprise was
difficult; it would certainly fail without him.
Johnnie remained carefully attentive during this adjuration. He
felt no desire even to smile, for the boy's earnestness was
touching and it caused the elder man's throat to tighten
uncomfortably. Johnnie had not realized before how fond he had
become of this quaint youngster. And so, when the little fellow
paused hopefully, O'Reilly put an arm around him.
"I'm sure you are everything you say you are, Jacket, and more,
too, but you can't go!"
With that Jacket flung off the embrace and, stalking away, seated
himself.
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