“Either that, or he was scared, Willie. He may have hit Old Stony harder than he intended.”
Back in the cabin the boys found that Jarrett Walz had come from his nearby home to check on the activity. Informed by Mr. Livingston as to what had happened, he made no attempt to hide his annoyance.
“Now I suppose Stony will insist on lying in bed for a week!” he snapped.
“That’s for the doctor to decide,” Mr. Livingston rejoined.
“You’ve sent for a doctor?” the motel owner fairly screamed.
“We have.”
“And I’m to pay the bill?”
“It would be a humanitarian thing to do. Stony needs a doctor. No question about that.”
For the first time, Mr. Walz seemed concerned about his worker’s condition. He went over to the bed, peering intently at the colorless face. After a moment, he turned away and made no further protest about the doctor.
It was twenty minutes later when Dr. James Alcott reached the cabin. He checked Stony’s heart, examined the wound, and then told Mr. Walz to call an ambulance.