“Careful nursing is all he needs now,” he said, “and I know he’ll get that.”
“You kin be sure of it,” said Mary. “This ain’t the first time he’s needed it an’ got it.”
“I know that,” and the doctor smiled. “It was I, you know, who took that bullet out of him and who fixed those broken ribs. He’s surely had his share.”
“An’ every time,” said Mary, with spirit, “it was a-doin’ some other man’s work—a-doin’ somethin’ he thought was his duty, where the other man would most likely have runned away.”
It was a very white and shaky, but thoroughly cheerful boy who smiled up at Mary Welsh five minutes later, when she mounted the stairs with the good news.
“Though it’s more ’n you deserve,” she added, with simulated wrath; “for ever pokin’ your nose in where you ain’t no business to.”
“What!” protested Allan, “would you have had me let those five poor fellows burn to death!”
“No; but when they’s detective work t’ do, let the detective do it. What’s Stanley for?”
“He was busy doing something else. And that reminds me—I must see him right away.”