Lying back on his pillow, Weldon waited for him to speak,
waited with an odd, restless beating of the heart for which he was
wholly at a loss to account.
The pause between them lengthened. At last Kruger Bobs drew his
mangy brown felt hat across his eyes.
"I's here, Boss," he said simply.
However, it was enough.
The next morning found Weldon sitting up. A clean-cut hole through
the flesh of a man who has lived a clean-cut life is swift in
healing. Now that his fever had left him, his superb vitality was
asserting itself once more, and he rallied quickly. Meanwhile, it
was good to be able to sit up and eat his breakfast like a civilized
being. Weldon had all the detestation of the average healthy being
for invalid ways. Moreover, he longed to be up and doing. With his
growing strength, the orderly, noiseless routine of the hospital
came upon his nerves. One of the nurses always walked on the points
of her toes; and he was conscious of a wild longing to throw a
pillow at her, as she went diddling to and fro past him, a dozen
times a day. The doctor, a man of iron nerve and velvet hand, was a
daily delight to him. And there was always Alice, frank, friendly
and altogether enjoyable.
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