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"
He
’
s
sick
,
"
said
Tom
.
"
He
’
s
dying
!
"
"
Oh
,
now
,
that
can
’
t
be
so
,
"
said
Mr
.
Jonas
,
scowling
around
at
the
very
real
world
where
nothing
that
vaguely
looked
like
death
could
be
found
on
this
quiet
day
.
"
He
’
s
dying
,
"
said
Tom
.
"
And
the
doctor
doesn
’
t
know
what
’
s
wrong
.
The
heat
,
he
said
,
nothing
but
the
heat
.
Can
that
be
,
Mr
.
Jonas
?
Can
the
heat
kill
people
,
even
in
a
dark
room
?
"
"
Well
,
"
said
Mr
.
Jonas
and
stopped
.
For
Tom
was
crying
now
.
"
I
always
thought
I
hated
him
.
.
.
that
’
s
what
I
thought
.
.
.
we
fight
half
the
time
.
.
.
I
guess
I
did
hate
him
.
.
.
sometimes
.
.
.
but
now
.
.
.
now
.
Oh
,
Mr
.
Jonas
,
if
only
.
.
.
"
"
If
only
what
,
boy
?
"
"
If
only
you
had
something
in
this
wagon
would
help
.
Something
I
could
pick
and
take
upstairs
and
make
him
okay
.
"
Tom
cried
again
.
Mr
.
Jonas
took
out
his
red
bandanna
handkerchief
and
handed
it
to
Tom
.
Tom
wiped
his
nose
and
eyes
with
the
handkerchief
.
