“Till the doctor removes them, Pratt. Now, be a good boy.”
“I’ll never be able to get out of bed,” grumbled the patient, “if he keeps me here much longer, I’ll be bedridden.”
“Nonsense,” said Frances, with a very superior air. “You haven’t been here two days yet.”
“And when is the doctor coming again?” went on Pratt.
“He said he’d come within the week,” replied the girl, demurely.
“Good-night, nurse!” groaned Pratt. “A whole week? Why, I’ll die in that time–positively.”
“You only think so,” said Frances, coolly.
“You don’t know how hard it is to lie here with nothing to do.”
“You don’t appreciate your good fortune, I am afraid,” returned the girl, more gravely. “You might have been much more seriously hurt—”
“You don’t suppose I care about being hurt, do you?” he cried, with some excitement. “I’d go through it a dozen times to the same end, Frances—”