Gran'pa looked a little annoyed. But in the end he paid up, and half-an-hour later we were conveying the bruised and broken Stringer by car to a hospital, where he was eventually trussed up in splints and bandages and handed over to us again for removal to town.
In the first class compartment which we reserved, he looked very quaint, sitting perfectly stiff and straight, with a couple of pillows behind his back.
"THIS SIDE UP! WITH CARE!" I couldn't help thinking.
"Any pain?" asked Gran'pa.
"Not much! It's a numbed sensation—with a sharp twinge every now and again."
He winced as we suddenly went rattling and swaying through a junction.
"It was most unfortunate!" said Gran'pa. "Still, we live and learn. . . . I hope this hasn't made you change your mind."
"No!" answered Stringer, biting his lip as we shot over a medley of joints in the line.
I admired the man's courage. There was no doubt that he felt the pain far more than he cared to admit; and he had come through an ordeal such as few men would be willing to risk again.
"You're the stuff we want on this expedition," said Gran'pa. "I'm proud of you, Stringer!"