Frank L. Packard

“ He groaned aloud in anguish, then started with a guilty glance toward the corner. The figure on the bed was motionless.
Bob hitched his chair around until he faced the door frith his back to the bunk. His hand stole into his pocket. He took out a photograph and laid it reverently on his knee. The eyes that looked into his seemed pleading with him to come back. He shook his head sadly as he lifted the picture to his lips.
"Oh, Mary!" The words welled up from the heart of the man with its immensity of yearning; the lips that scarcely moved to form them trembled piteously. ”

“ Bob's lips twitched nervously.
"I ought to feel like smashing you for that," he said with painful slowness, "only you're sick—and—somehow, I guess I'm kind of out of sorts."
Neither of the men spoke for a time that seemed ages to them both. Finally, Evans raised himself painfully on his elbow.
"I'm in dead earnest, Bob, an' I'm goin' ter hev my say. I seen you kiss thet photergraph last night when you thought I was asleep. I ain't got a soul in all the world what cares a cuss about me. I ain't sayin' but it's my own fault; thet's neither 'ere ner thar. 'Tain't fittin' fer you ter stay. ”

“ Suddenly he straightened up, his hands clenched tight in fierce resentment. What was this sick thing on the bed that it should stand between them? What claim had it to interpose? What jibing mockery was this that held him back from the craving that racked his very soul? Duty! ”