John Francis

The morning was beautiful. During the hours of darkness a shower had cleansed the great outdoor world with its gentle moisture. Now, in all of its new laundered freshness, the earth welcomed the warm rays of the rising sun, sweeping with millions of scintillating reflections through the air, clear and pellucid in its purity. The rays sparkled and glittered on the drops of moisture which clung to the grass blades and to the leaves. They gave warm caresses to the bushes and to the trees and from the upturned faces of the flowers, waving coyly and coquettishly, they stole sly kisses, until the blossoms blushed red and pink and hid their faces beneath the leaves for very shame.

Down from the hills danced a gentle breeze, and, catching the naughty lovemakers, laughed merrily and rushed away to whisper the story in the branches of the trees. The birds overheard it and they laughed, too, and spread the news, the naughty gossips, in a cheery chorus of song.

Then the world awakened and heard the laughter of the wind and the merry song of the birds and felt the caress of the sun and wise men threw back their shoulders and took deep draughts of the morning air and were happy, too.At the hospital, a nurse in her garb of white was humming softly as she moved about among the awakening patients, setting the ward in order. She stopped by a bed to remove a glass from the enameled table.

A big, handsome fellow, arrayed in pink pajamas, opened a pair of black eyes beneath a mop of disheveled black hair and smiled up at her.

“Good morning,” she greeted him. “How are you this morning?”

“Good–ouch!” An attempt to move was the cause of the peculiar response.

She came to his assistance. “Isn’t that better?”

“Yes, thank you. I forgot about yesterday’s troubles while I slept. How could I get so many sore spots when I only struck in one place?” he asked.

The nurse laughed as she inspected his chart. “How’s your head this morning?”

“Sister–” he grinned good humoredly–“that dome of mine has completely recovered. I am healing from the top down.”

She raised a shade and a ray of sunshine flashed across the foot of his bed. “Isn’t that better? It’s a beautiful day.”

He rolled and twisted his eyes until he was able to get a glimpse of a bit of blue sky through the window. His face registered great regret. “What a day for a two or three hundred mile spin, sister,” he mused.

Again she examined his chart. “Say, Mr. Joseph Tolliver Curtis,” she remonstrated sharply.

“Those who love me call me Joe,” he interrupted in a gentle voice as he watched with great interest and amusement the snap in her hazel eyes.She disregarded the brazen hint and proceeded to reprimand. “It’s time for you to cut out this ‘sister’ business. I might stand for it once in awhile but you have a chronic case of it. You took a spin yesterday which is going to make us intimate acquaintances for some time.”

“Oh death, where is thy sting?” he interjected.

Perfectly oblivious to his remark, she continued, “It will be better, particularly for you, if our acquaintance is a pleasant one. You will call me–Miss Knight–Mr. Curtis,” she intimated with a grave dignity which the wayward blonde curls beneath her cap did not loyally support.

“‘Night, sable goddess, from ebon throne descends,’” he quoted with dramatic emphasis. “Do you furnish breakfast as well as lectures on behavior in this hospital?”

She retired with great hauteur between smiling masculine eyes to the end of the ward. Suddenly, she whirled and waved her hand at the injured one, and, as if addressing an old and intimate friend, called, “You can have your breakfast in a minute, Joe.”

In his apartment above the garage at the Dale home, Ike was awakened by the shrill alarm of an electric bell rung from a button pressed by Serena in the comfort of her own bed. Thus he arose betimes of necessity, rather than from personal desire to salute the rising sun.

Breathing deeply, the spirit of the morning entered into the chauffeur’s veins as he watched a couple of fat robins enjoying a breakfast of elastic worms pulled from the moist earth. Lifting his voice in muffled song, he ran the big car out of the garage, and, opening its bonnet, reclined on the radiator and lazily looked at the engine.

Like a high priestess veiled in clouds of incense while engaged in holy mysteries, Serena moved about her kitchen in the midst of appetizing odors, preparing coffee, frying ham and cooking waffles for the morning refreshment of the Dales. Now, as if such dainties were insufficient, she brought forth another skillet and put diverse parts of a fowl therein, and with skilled, fork-armed hand shifted them about until they sissled and hissed and fried.

The morning breeze faintly wafted pleasing odors to Ike. They assailed his nostrils delightfully. He breathed yet a little deeper and sang yet a little louder. Closing the bonnet, he climbed into a seat that he might, in pleasant anticipation, rest from labor. Suddenly, there came to him a more delicious scent. He sniffed in disbelief that fate could be so kind, but his experienced olfactory nerves reassured him. In such matters, they could not err.

“Chicken!” He sniffed and sought appropriate outlet for joy. With a roar which shook the early peace of the neighborhood as a salute of artillery, Ike raced the engine of the machine and in the midst of this diabolical furore, he sang a paean of joy.

The uproar smote the calm of Serena’s kitchen. She jerked with alarm, but the wisdom of years asserted itself. Rushing out on the stoop she fixed indignant eyes on the chauffeur. “You, Ike,” she cried, “stop dat noise.”

He returned her words with a cheery smile of trust and confidence. Deafened by his own row, he judged that she desired speech with him. The engine slowed and the noise decreased until there could be distinguished the words of a ballad of strenuous love,

“Ah kissed ’er in de mouf

An’ ah hugged ’er in de souf.”

“Ain’ you know bettah an’ to mek a noise dat a way, dis time in de mo’ning?” the irritated cook inquired.

“Ah ain’ mek no noise, Miss Sereny. Hit de caah,” he made reply in pleasant tones. It would be folly to irritate unduly the custodian of the chicken lest the fowl be consumed before friendly relations could be reestablished. His black face was bathed in good humor as he went on. “Miss Sereny, ma hand an’ ma foot done slip.”

That smile disarmed the cook. It was his strongest weapon, but Ike usually resorted to a sullen obstinacy which infuriated her, to his undoing. She glared at him for a moment and then his smile and the spirit of the morning claimed her. “You bettah watch you’ step, den,” she returned, and their voices blended in a boisterous gust of laughter.

Ike’s salute to his favorite fowl awakened Virginia from her sleep with a start. Sitting up in bed, she cast a frightened glance about her pretty bedroom. For a moment she listened intently, drawn up in a little white heap on her bed, her blue eyes misty with dreams, peeping out from a frame of towsled hair. “It’s Ike running the engine,” she decided.

She gave a little yawn as she poked her feet into her slippers and ran over to a window. From it she could look, between the tops of two great elms, across the valley in which South Ridgefield lay to the top of a small hill upon which, bathed in the morning sun, stood the brick hospital building. Her eyes rested upon it, thoughtfully, and she took a deep breath of morning air. She began to sing happily as she turned to dress.

Obadiah was shaving in his bath room. He used an old fashioned razor, the pride of his youth. His deep cut wrinkles made it a matter of care–almost a ceremony. Ike’s disturbance nearly resulted in the amputation of a lip. Obadiah was peeved. Rushing to the window, he threw it open. He heard Serena’s words of remonstrance and determined to dismiss Ike. He often did that.

Suddenly the morning breeze played caressingly about him. He pulled his bath robe closer to him and slammed the window down. His face felt stiff where the lather had dried upon it. “Darn the luck,” growled Obadiah. He washed his face, restropped his razor, reprepared his lather, and finally completed his shave by nicking his neck on his Adam’s apple. “Dang it all,” he howled. The world was ill using Obadiah and he resented it. He dressed slowly and from his bedroom window moodily viewed his beautiful grounds.

Into his view danced Virginia, swinging a wide brimmed hat by its streamers and singing gaily as she made for a bed of sweet peas.

Obadiah watched her, but the harsh lines upon his face did not soften nor the irascible look fade. He gave a grim nod when the girl discovered him and shouted a merry greeting.

There was no one in the dining room when the manufacturer entered it that morning. He seated himself and began to eat his melon.

The rich voice of Serena with all of its carrying power came in at the window, “Yo’ all bettah git in yere mighty fas’. You’ Daddy done eat up all de breakfus’.”

Then sounded the answering words of the girl, ringing silvery and sweet, “Ask Daddy to wait. I have some beautiful flowers for him.”

Serena was suddenly beset with internal mutterings and grumblings and broke into incoherent utterances. “Ah ain’ got no time–no time–flowers–tell him dat–No siree–Ah ain’ no fool.” A few moments later she entered the dining room worrying aloud. “Dat chil’ gwine be fo’ced to eat a col’ breakfus. Ah caint keep grub hot all day.”

“She must learn to be on time at her meals,” Obadiah scolded.

Serena gave him a look of stern disapprobation. “Dat gal miss ’er breakfus er gittin’ flowers fo’ yo’ all.”

Light feet ran through the hall and Virginia skipped into the room, her face flushed, her hair tossed and a bunch of sweet peas in either hand.

Unexpectedly, two soft arms were about Obadiah’s neck. He found his face buried in a mass of blossoms while girlish laughter in peals of delight rang in his ears.

Virginia shifted her position to examine in mock solemnity the sober face of her father blinking from the mass of delicate colors. She gave a shout of amusement. “Daddy, you don’t match very well.” She shifted the bouquets about his face. “There, that is much better,” she decided. “Don’t you think so, Serena?”

Obadiah sneezed.

“God bless you,” Virginia whispered.

“Take those things out of my nose,” protested Obadiah.

“You look so beautiful,” the girl giggled. “Doesn’t he, Serena?”

The colored woman watched the proceedings with great gravity. “Leave you’ Daddy ’lone, chil’,” she urged. “De breakfus gwine be ruined.”

Obadiah released himself from his daughter’s embrace and the blossoms dropped in a glowing mass upon the table. “Eat your breakfast and stop this foolishness,” he told her.

“I’ll eat anything you’ll give me, Daddy dear. I am as hungry as a bear.” She glanced at the clock. “It’s late. I must hurry to get over to the hospital.”

“What for?” he asked in apparent surprise.

“To see the man who was hurt yesterday. I spoke to you about it.”

“Yes, but upon reflection I think it inadvisable. You might catch some disease in a place like that. You must think of yourself.”

A look of disappointment came into her face. She ate in silence, the gayety of the morning swept away by his refusal.

When breakfast was over, she followed him into the living room where he sank into a chair and devoted himself to his paper. Thinking deeply, she paused by the center table. Very quietly, she opened a drawer and took from it the book which had belonged to her mother. She caressed the little volume gently for a moment, a great tenderness in her eyes. Then she replaced it. Determination had driven disappointment from her face and there was a faint reflection of his obstinacy in her jaw when she went over and confronted her father. “Daddy,” she commenced, very softly. “All your life you have been helping people–thinking of others. In your thoughtfulness for my health you wish to keep me away from the hospital. But, don’t you see, I was to blame for that accident. It is my duty to help that man, if I can. I must go.”

Obadiah glanced over his paper at Virginia as she began to speak. Realizing that her words savored of rank rebellion, he reddened and glared at the sheet before him as if it contained a warning of the presence in his household of a serpent pledged to destroy its peace. “What–what–what’s this?” he spluttered.

“I can’t allow your love to make a coward of me–turn me from my duty, Daddy.”

Obadiah blinked as he considered this mutiny. Judgment and experience warned him to control himself. Unpleasant differences in the past had not always resulted as he could have wished. There had been times when he had been forced not only to sue Virginia for peace but likewise to make abject overtures to that firmest of allies, Serena.

Obadiah thought rapidly. Outside of moral suasion, modern opinion recognizes but few methods for the influencing of eighteen year old female insurgents. If Obadiah argued, he would get mad. In his dilemma, he surrendered, but not with good grace. “Well,” he yielded sulkily, “if you feel that way about it, have it your own way.” Scowling darkly, he flung his paper from him and departed for his office with asperity.

From the porch Virginia waved him a last good bye. “Poor Daddy. He is so afraid that I will get sick,” she thought, pensively, as she watched the disappearing car. But in a moment her good spirits returned and she hurried into the kitchen. Serena was forced to lay aside her work until the chicken was daintily arranged in a basket with other delicacies added by the old negress in reparation, possibly, for her weakness in yielding to Ike a small portion of the invalid’s fare.

Later that morning Virginia arrived at the hospital. Following the directions given her, she found herself standing in the doorway of a long room on the second floor. On each side of a center aisle ran a row of white bedsteads. The walls, painted a dull buff, were pierced by many windows and the linoleum in the aisle and the hard wood floor were waxed and polished until they shone. In this place, cleanliness, fresh air, and sunshine reigned.

The beds were filled with pajama clad men. To the embarrassed young girl it was as if she had blundered into a man’s bedroom, and impulsively she turned to flee.

A cheery voice arrested her, and the nurse whom she had met in the reception room on the previous day greeted her. “I told you that I would meet you here.” She smiled with a frank cordiality which instantly dissipated the visitor’s embarrassment.

Virginia knew now that she liked this young woman, even though she was a great tease, so she answered the smile with one of equal friendliness and told her, “It is nice to find someone I know”; but instantly she referred to the cause for her visit. “How is he?”

“I think that we have his fever under control,” laughed the nurse.

“Now she is beginning to tease,” thought Virginia. “I won’t notice it.”

The nurse went on. “He is really getting along fine. If I were you I shouldn’t give a moment’s worry to that young man’s health. Don’t trouble to plan your remarks to him, either. He won’t listen to them. He does most of the talking.”

The walk down the aisle between those beds, each with its pair of masculine optics, was a trial for the girl. It seemed miles. At last, safely by this gauntlet of inquisitive male glances, she found herself looking down into those same black eyes which had looked into hers for a second out on Forest Avenue. Then they were dazed with pain, now they were filled with friendly inquiry.

The nurse, Miss Knight, was direct and explicit. “Joe,” she announced, “this is the young lady who says that she put you here.”

Joe accepted this surprising remark as a matter of amusement which increased as the nurse went on.

“Now she comes to soften the hard blows with tender words and kind attentions.”Virginia blushed furiously. She thought Miss Knight’s manner towards men distinctly common.

A deep voice came from the bed. “I am very glad to meet you and be able to thank you for what I have been told you did for me, Miss Dale. That accident was my hard luck.” He put his whole soul into his smile of welcome and the girl knew that she liked it.

Having endeavored to relieve his guest’s embarrassment, he turned upon Miss Knight, the greatly delighted cause of it, and adapted his manner and speech to her case. “Say, sister, blow. Blow while the breeze will toss you away. I haven’t noticed any invitations for you to sit in on this peace conference.”

The nurse flared at his words, although his smile had tempered them. Drawing herself up, she made answer with great dignity.

“You don’t need to urge me not to hang around while your wounds are being dressed with soothing lotions. It’s not necessary to hit me with an automobile to get me out of the way,” she exclaimed with great sarcasm, and flounced away.

“The gloom of night departs,” he chuckled, and, turning dancing eyes upon his visitor, continued softly, “and now comes dawn.”

Virginia flushed again. “For all that you know, it may be stormy,” she retorted, astonished at her own glib tongue. The merry banter of the patient and nurse had surprised her. She had been taught that this sort of thing was vulgar. Yet, somehow, it didn’t seem so dreadful. She suspected that she rather liked it and was troubled by this symptom of innate depravity. Now she became aware that those black eyes were studying her, and mischief gleamed in their depths.

“Our meeting was very sudden yesterday,” he laughed. “I didn’t have a chance to give you my card. My name is Joseph Tolliver Curtis. Those who–” he hesitated and then went on–“are my friends, call me Joe.” Happiness radiated from him. He was so good humored that it was contagious.

The visitor beamed upon the patient. “My name is Virginia Dale,” she explained.

“I know it,” he admitted, and then, with the manner of intense personal interest, he demanded, “Do your friends–your intimate friends–by any chance call you ‘Virge’?”

“I should say not.” The girl’s eyes flashed as she retorted, “They would hear from me.”

“By letter,” he inquired, “or telephone?” In a moment he continued, “I have it. You will sing to them just as you are going to sing to me.”

“Sing to you?”

“Of course you are going to sing to me. Every one who visits a hospital should sing. It was found wonderfully soothing to the patients in the big army hospitals during the war. After they had listened to the performers they were more contented to endure their suffering.”

“They would have died on the spot if I’d sung,” she answered.

They both laughed in the exuberance of their youth at their own nonsense until his injured ribs stopped him and she became very serious.

“I came, today–” her manner was almost shy–“to tell you how sorry I am for that accident. It makes me unhappy to think of you suffering here through my fault.”

“How can you blame yourself? You had nothing at all to do with it,” he declared with great earnestness.

“I told our chauffeur to hurry,” she explained, and then with finality, “if he hadn’t, there would have been no collision.”

Again his injured ribs subdued his laughter. “If everybody had stayed off the street, I wouldn’t have been hurt. That’s your argument.” He studied her face for a moment and then resumed. “Listen, I am going to tell you a secret. Promise never to tell.”

“Honest,” she agreed.

“I was running away over the speed limit. I must have been going forty miles an hour.”

Virginia became the custodian of his secret with great calmness and solemnly confessed, “We were running over the speed limit, too. Ike usually does. He knows that I enjoy going fast. The speed limit in this town is away too low, I think.”

“Yes,” he concurred, “I wouldn’t have been hurt worse if I had been running twice as fast. The point is, that we could both be arrested and fined for speeding.”

“They always arrest Ike,” she explained with complacency. “He doesn’t care a bit. He’s used to it.” Anxiety arose in her eyes. “Surely, they wouldn’t arrest one as badly hurt as you?”

“You don’t know that judge.” Joe spoke with experience. “If they brought a dying man into his court who had only fifty dollars to leave to his widow and children, that judge would take it from him for speeding. That is, if he rode a motorcycle.”

“Oh, the injustice of it. Doesn’t he care for motorcyclists?”

“No,” asserted Joe with great forcefulness. “Nobody likes a motorcyclist.”

“I do,” proclaimed Virginia, and then, after taking a moment to recover from the embarrassment of her own outspokenness, she continued, “It’s not right. They are entitled to equal justice,” as if enunciating a newly discovered truth.

“Sure, they are entitled to it, but they don’t get it. That’s why I must keep quiet. My accident insurance will take care of my hospital bills and my job will keep.”

“Why don’t you collect damages?” urged Virginia with great gravity.

“From whom?”

After a moment’s consideration, she solved the legal problem. “From me–that is, from my father, for me.”

At the reference to her father a change came in the injured man. His good humor faded. “No,” he said decidedly. “In the first place I wouldn’t accept money from your father and in the second place he would not give any.”

“You don’t know my father,” she said with pride. “He is a very just man. Sometimes he’s gruff and a little cross but he doesn’t mean anything by that. He always wants to do the right and generous thing.” Her face was alight with loyalty and admiration.

“Does he?” There was a note of sarcasm in his voice which disappeared, and he said no more after he had read her eyes.

She misinterpreted the change in him. “I have stayed too long,” she worried. “You are tired.” She remembered the chicken. “I brought you something.” She put the plate of fowl beside him.

He viewed it in joyous anticipation. “Fine,” he shouted. “If there is one thing I love, it is fried chicken. How did you guess it?”

She smiled at Miss Knight who had joined them. “A bird told me,” she answered him.

The nurse put her hands on her hips and viewed the visitor with marked suspicion at this remark, but, as if satisfied that her distrust was unfounded, she retired to the diet kitchen from which hearty laughter immediately thereafter resounded.

“Good bye,” she told him almost shyly.

His good spirits had returned. “You and I are friends, and remember, we are always going to be friends.”

She nodded and said again, “Good bye, Mr. Curtis.”

“My friends call me Joe,” he reminded her.

Virginia hesitated, and then, “Good bye–Joe,” she whispered and left the ward with a sweet little smile.

In the hall Miss Knight rejoined her. “Before you go I want to show you something which is our pride and joy at the present moment,” she explained to the girl. She opened a door and displayed a beautifully furnished room which glistened in its cleanliness.

“It is very attractive, but why is the room different?” asked Virginia.

The nurse pointed to a bronze tablet. It bore the name of the donor, one well known in South Ridgefield.

“What a beautiful idea,” the girl exclaimed.

“Isn’t it?” responded the nurse. “The gift includes not only the furniture but the endowment of the bed for five years.” She laughed. “The man who gave it is ahead of the game. He was hurt in a railroad accident and was here for a couple of months. He sued the railroad company and collected more than enough from them to do this.”

Afterwards, by Virginia’s express wish, she was taken to the nursery and permitted to hold a recently arrived guest in her arms, who happened at the moment to be awake. She was allowed to peek into the maternity ward with its beds filled with women, and her tour ended in the dispensary where she met Dr. Jackson and a nurse who were busily engaged in caring for the ailments of the sick babies the mothers brought in from outside. At last she left for home, and on the way she thought of this strange new world she had been shown in this big brick building, but principally she thought of a pair of black eyes that laughed and of the gross injustices to which down trodden motorcyclists were the victims.

Later that afternoon, Miss Knight was very busy among the shining utensils in the diet kitchen when she was disturbed by another visitor.

“I beg your pardon,” said a voice, “but could you direct me to a patient? My name,” he continued suavely, “is Wilkins–Hezekiah Wilkins.” He wiped his bald head, and went on. “It’s very warm today–extremely so.”“Sure, it’s warm,” agreed Miss Knight, “and this electric heater makes it a darn sight warmer.”

Hezekiah intended to give the nurse a look of sympathetic understanding, but ended by giving her a friendly grin. “I comprehend your point of view,” he added. “A trip to a pleasant resort would be more agreeable, don’t you think?”

Miss Knight viewed his words in the sense of a tentative invitation and considered the merriment in his eyes suspicious in one of his age. She froze and demanded with the utmost frigidity, “Whom do you wish to see?”

Utterly innocent that he had all but persuaded this sophisticated nurse that he was one of those aged profligates of whom young women had best beware, Hezekiah drew forth an envelope upon which he had entered certain notes which he now found difficult to decipher, and told her.

She led the way and the lawyer followed through the ranks of curious eyes. He vigorously mopped at his shining cranium and held his inverted panama before him as if taking a collection of errant drops of moisture that they might not mar the polished floor. This detracted from the dignity of Hezekiah’s progress.

Seating himself by Joe Curtis’s bed, the attorney gazed at the youth for a few moments in polite curiosity.

The motorcyclist returned the look with one of undisguised distrust.

“My name is Hezekiah Wilkins,” announced the lawyer when the mutual scrutiny had continued so long that it threatened to become embarrassing. “I have reasons to believe that I am speaking to Mr. Joseph Tolliver Curtis.”

“You’ve got me, Steve,” responded Joe.

“I’ve what?” inquired Hezekiah, much perplexed. Light dawned upon him. “Oh, yes–quite so–assuredly,” he indulged in a soft chuckle. “I am dense at times. Slow might be better, eh?” Again he chuckled. “Slow for the rising generations, particularly–” he smiled genially at Joe–“when they ride motorcycles.”

Joe abated none of his vigilance. His policy was that of watchful waiting.

“The day is very warm,” continued Hezekiah, looking about the ward with interest. “This is a delightfully cool and pleasant place. You are to be congratulated upon having such comfortable quarters in which to recuperate.”

“Say!” Joe’s voice was distinctly hostile. “Are you the advertising agent for this hospital?”

Hezekiah’s trained ear sensed unfriendliness abroad. He changed his manner of approach with the quickness of a skilled strategist. “Mr. Curtis,” he went on briskly, “I represent Mr. Obadiah Dale. You have no doubt heard of him?”

Joe nodded.

“Your motorcycle ran into Mr. Dale’s automobile yesterday,” the lawyer resumed. “I do not come to seek compensation for the injury to his car. I am delighted, finding you as I do upon a bed of pain, to be upon a much pleasanter mission.” Hezekiah smiled benignantly. “There was a witness to the accident. With some difficulty, I have located him and procured his statement. While it may be conceded that this person has no special skill or training in estimating the speed of moving vehicles, he is” (the attorney’s manner expressed assurance) “prepared to testify that you were operating your machine at a speed in excess of that permitted by law.” He paused as if awaiting an incriminating admission.

“Go on,” snapped Joe.

Hezekiah continued with increased emphasis. “Assuming this to be true, it appears that you were entirely or in part responsible for the accident and the consequent damage to Mr. Dale’s car and your own person.”

“Not on your life,” cried Joe with great excitement. “I have a witness who says the Dale car was to blame for the accident and that it was exceeding the speed limit.”

“Surely.” Mr. Wilkins chuckled. “There are always witnesses for both sides. My gracious, if this were not true how could we have law suits? It’s the reputation of a witness for truth and veracity which counts in court, my boy.”

“I know it.”

“Admitting your witness,” Hezekiah resumed with great cheerfulness, “the speed of your own machine is certain to be the subject of controversy. My client has no desire to enter into this. He waives it.” Hezekiah likewise waved his glasses and then went on speaking much more rapidly as one hurrying to be rid of a task in which he has no heart. “My client not only waives your personal responsibility and the material damage suffered by him, but authorizes me, in his behalf, to tender you this check in the sum of twenty-five dollars to assist in the defrayment of your hospital expenses.”

Joe Curtis’s eyes flashed with temper. “Obadiah Dale and his money can go straight to the devil,” he roared, in a voice which startled the entire ward and made the lawyer jump.

“Calm yourself, Sir,” urged Hezekiah. “Undue excitement is injudicious in your physical condition. Bless my soul, there may be grounds for differences over the sum tendered, but I can see no reason for intense anger.”

Down the aisle came Miss Knight, stern of face. “Say,” she demanded, “do you think that this is a livery stable, Joe? If you do, you had better wake up. That rough stuff doesn’t go around here. Do you get me?”

He gave her a most sheepish glance. “Sister,” he began.

The nurse’s eyes flashed. “Must I speak to you again about that ‘sister’ habit. I won’t stand for it.” She explained to the lawyer, “I not only have to nurse these men but I have to teach them manners, too.”

Before her righteous indignation, a great meekness descended upon Joe. “I am sorry, Miss Knight. I didn’t mean to start a rough house, only I–got mad.” He smiled at her.

She surrendered to his humility and that smile. She adjusted his pillow and brushed the hair back from his eyes with her hand. “You are a bad boy, Joe. I am going to forgive you for this, but the next time you start anything, you will be punished.” She shook a threatening finger at him. “Do you understand?”

“Yes’m,” he answered in the tone and manner of a naughty small boy. He rolled his head towards the lawyer. “I owe you an apology for losing my temper.”

“Never mind, my boy,” said Hezekiah, who had viewed the calming of the storm with relief. “A gale clears the atmosphere. Plain speaking begets clear understanding.” Resuming his glasses, the lawyer regarded the youth with great friendliness, and, after a moment, deemed it safe to go on. “You expressed yourself so–ah–” (he sought for an inoffensive term) “with such certainty of feeling that I assume that you have determined upon some measure of adjustment yourself.”

Again Joe Curtis’s eyes flashed. “There can be no adjustment between Obadiah Dale and me,” he answered coldly.

“No?” Hezekiah’s regret had the ring of sincerity. “In a friendly spirit towards you, my boy,” he urged, “I would advise against the development of an hostile feeling towards Mr. Dale. He had no more to do with that accident than the man in the moon.”

“I know it,” admitted Joe.

“The institution of an action at law is an expensive proceeding. As a lawyer I warn you that the outcome would be extremely uncertain. Who can tell what a jury will do?” Hezekiah shook his head solemnly, thereby registering his grave doubts of the action of twelve men good and true.

“Institute an action,” repeated Joe, his eyes dancing with mischief. “Say, Uncle, when I sue that old skate, it sure is going to be some case.”

Hezekiah waxed indignant. This may have been due either to Joe’s intimation of relationship to himself or to the opprobrious designation of his client as an old skate. “Don’t mislead yourself,” he exclaimed peevishly. “You will be thrown out of court.”

Joe ruffled visibly. “Who is going to throw me out of court?” he demanded. “Obadiah Dale?” Another idea struck him. He gave the lawyer a most threatening and pugnacious glance. “Maybe you think you can do it?”

Hezekiah’s amazement at the suspicion that either he or his client contemplated physical violence upon this young giant, swathed in bandages, was extreme. “Gorry diamonds, you must be crazy,” he gasped, and then the other’s point of view came to him. He burst into a big booming peal of honest amusement, an infectious laugh which brought instant peace. “My friend,” he chuckled, “you misunderstand me. I attempted to suggest that in view of the evidence which I can produce, a court would refuse to consider your claim.”

“Not with the witness I have,” Joe insisted.

“Well, what about this wonderful witness of yours?” chuckled Hezekiah, comfortable in the assurance of holding the master hand.

“My witness” (the calmness of his voice did not quite conceal a note of exultation in it) “is Virginia Dale.”