But now Kent noticed that Jot's face had suddenly sobered; he was looking at Old Tilly anxiously; he had seen. His hand come up from beneath the table, and he was sure that the handkerchief was spotted with red. "I say—Old Tilly—" Jot got to his feet hastily.
But Old Tilly's face was white, and he was swaying from side to side.
Old Tilly was fainting away.
CHAPTER VIII.
"I—I'm awake now. What's the matter? Who's sick?"
Old Tilly sat up dizzily. He had lost consciousness only for a moment, but his face seemed to be growing whiter and whiter. Jot and Kent hovered over him anxiously.
"You got kind of faint, Old Till—just for a minute. You're all right now," Kent said.
"Of course I'm all right!—I always was! I don't see what you're making such a fuss about!" But the pale face belied his words.
Kent lifted the clumsily bandaged hand and unwound the handkerchief. It was stained with blood.
"Oh, what have you done, Kent! You shouldn't have taken the bandage off!" exclaimed Jot, in fright. "See how the blood is dripping from the cloth!"
"It's nothing, I tell you!" growled Old Tilly. "Wind the thing up again!
It's only a nail tear!"