Then one day, when the bandage had dwindled to a small patch held in place by strips of adhesive plaster, Johnny broke into her detailed description of a silly Western picture she had seen.
"What's become of Bland?" he asked, just when she was describing a thrilling scene.
"Bland? Oh, why—Bland's gone." Mary V was very innocent as to eyes and voice, and very uneasy as to her mind.
"Gone where? He was broke. I didn't get a chance to pay him—"
"Oh, well, as to that—I suppose dad fixed him up with a ticket and so on. And so this girl, Inez, overhears them plotting—"
"Where's your dad?"
"Dad? Why, dad's in Tucson, I believe, at the trial. What makes you so rude when I'm telling you the most thrill—"
"When's he coming back?"
"For gracious sake, Johnny! What do you want of dad all at once? Am I not entertaining—"
"You are. As entertaining as a meadow lark. I love meadow larks, but I never could put in all my time listening to 'em sing. I generally had something else I had to do."