“I am purty hungry, an’ that’s a fact,” he admitted. “What’s that you’ve got on th’ stove? It smells mighty good,” and he sniffed appreciatively.
“It’s some chicken broth fer Allan. Would y’ like some?”
“A good thick beefsteak ’d be more in my line. How is th’ boy?”
“Comin’ on nicely,” answered Mary, as she hurried to the pantry. She reappeared in a moment, bringing back with her just the sort of steak Jack was thinking of.
He stared at it in astonishment.
“What are you,” he demanded, “a witch? Do you jest wave your wand an’ make things happen?”
“Oh, no,” laughed Mary. “I bought it this mornin’,” and the steak was soon sizzling temptingly in a skillet.
“And you’re sure th’ boy’s comin’ along all right?” he asked.
“Th’ docther says he kin set up day arter t’-morrer. He’s got his side in a plaster cast, an’ says he’ll keep it there till th’ ribs knit. He says that won’t take long.”
The doctor, as will be seen, counted on Allan’s perfect health and vigorous constitution; nor did he count in vain, for two days later he permitted the patient to rise from the bed, helped him carefully to descend the stairs, and saw him comfortably installed in a great padded chair by the front window, whence he could look down over the busy yards.