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The Red Cross Girl by Richard Harding Davis
page 12 of 273 (04%)
splendid mountains. He only interfered with you when he was
afraid that you were going to hurt some one else whom he also
loved. Once I had a telegram from him which urged me for
heaven's sake not to forget that the next day was my wife's
birthday. Whether I had forgotten it or not is my own private
affair. And when I declared that I had read a story which I
liked very, very much and was going to write to the author to
tell him so, he always kept at me till the letter was
written.

Have I said that he had no habits? Every day, when he was
away from her, he wrote a letter to his mother, and no swift
scrawl at that, for, no matter how crowded and eventful the
day, he wrote her the best letter that he could write. That
was the only habit he had. He was a slave to it.

Once I saw R. H. D. greet his old mother after an absence.
They threw their arms about each other and rocked to and fro
for a long time. And it hadn't been a long absence at that.
No ocean had been between them; her heart had not been in her
mouth with the thought that he was under fire, or about to
become a victim of jungle fever. He had only been away upon a
little expedition, a mere matter of digging for buried
treasure. We had found the treasure, part of it a chipmunk's
skull and a broken arrow-head, and R. H. D. had been absent
from his mother for nearly two hours and a half.

I set about this article with the knowledge that I must fail
to give more than a few hints of what he was like. There
isn't much more space at my command, and there were so many
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