“Why,” he exclaimed after a glance at Ralph, “you are hurt, too.”
“Oh, a mere trifle,” declared the young engineer with apparent carelessness.
“No, it’s something serious--worth attending to right away,” insisted the paymaster, and he called to his wife, introduced Ralph, and Mrs. Little led him out to the kitchen.
In true motherly fashion she seated him on a splint bottomed chair at the sink, got a basin of hot water and some towels, some lint and a bottle of liniment, and proceeded to attend to his needs like an expert surgeon.
Where Ralph’s hand had swept the steel rail when his assailant in the tunnel had knocked him off his footing, one arm had doubled up under him, his fingers sweeping a bunch of metal splinters. These had criss-crossed the entire back of his hand. Once mended up, Ralph was most solicitous, however, to work his arm freely, fearing a wrench or injury that might temporarily disable him from road duty.
“I’ve got the superintendent over the ’phone,” said Mr. Little, as Ralph reëntered the library. “He’s due at an important lodge meeting, and can’t get here until after nine o’clock. See here, Fairbanks,” with a glance at the injured hand which Ralph kept to his side in an awkward way, “you’d better get home and put that arm in a sling.”
“I think myself I’d better have a look at it,” acknowledged Ralph. “It feels pretty sore around the shoulder.”
“You have a telephone at your house?” inquired the paymaster.
“Yes, sir.”
“I may want to call you up. If I don’t, I feel pretty sure the superintendent will, when we have talked over affairs.”