“You aren’t nearly so swollen as you were yesterday,” she said presumably addressing the ankle. “And I don’t believe you will be nearly so painful!”
Very gingerly and carefully she tested the truth of this bold assertion, resting the foot lightly on the floor, then adding more pressure when the expected pain failed to register.
To her delight she found that she could walk. The ankle was naturally still sore and painful, but by hobbling and by taking the burden of her weight mostly on the well foot she could manage to get about without too much discomfort.
Pausing in the midst of these experiments to find Helen’s eyes fixed sleepily upon her, Ruth smiled.
“I’m only a make-believe cripple,” she cried, with an attempt at gayety. “Who knows? Ruth Fielding may defeat Sol Bloomberg yet!”
But though the injury to Ruth’s ankle was far less serious than she had dared to hope, still the young director found herself greatly handicapped in the serious work of the day. It was plain to her that she must favor the ankle and go lightly on it for that day at least. To use it too much while it was still so tender meant that she might be laid up for days to come.
“You and Chess will have to follow the thief,” she told Tom after breakfast that morning. “If Eben was right about seeing Charlie Reid at The Big Chance, then I believe he is certainly the fellow Bloomberg would employ and the man you have to find. His trail ought still to be fresh and comparatively easy to follow if you start at once. Perhaps you may find the films and bring them back to me by night. Oh, boys, please try! You know what it means to me—to us, Tom!”
“We’ll get those films if it takes a leg!” promised Tom.
“If it takes both of ’em!” Chess added vehemently.
The girls watched the two boys ride off in a cloud of dust, waving to them until they could no longer be seen.