Dillard's face reddened at this speech. He made a few awkward movements with his hands, and then spoke, in an abashed way.
"I've done nothin', doctor, to make a fuss about, but I'll be mighty glad to be your friend. I imagine a fellow with the stuff in him that you are made of would be worth having for a friend."
He drew out his watch and looked at it, rising quickly as he noted the time.
"It's getting late. By the time I get breakfast and reach the bank it'll be close onto nine. I'm glad you're lookin' so well. Don't try to get up today. I'll call in at noon for a minute. Good-bye."
He leaned over the bed and pressed Glenning's hand again, then took his hat and withdrew, closing the door gently behind him.
When his fat friend had departed, Glenning mechanically sent his eyes around the room. It contained, besides the bed upon which he lay, the customary washstand, dresser, table and two chairs. His clothes lay upon one of these chairs, and he looked in a rather disinterested way at the scorched and burned garments, now rendered totally useless. Then his mind flew back to those awful moments in the stall with The Prince, and he shut his eyes and groaned audibly. The door to his room opened, and he heard the clinking of dishes. He looked, and saw a waiter bearing a tray to the table in the center of his room. The young fellow deposited his burden, then glanced towards the bed with respectful eyes, as some might gaze upon a hero overthrown.
"Here's your breakfast, sir. I'll bring it closer if you want me to. Mr. Dillard told us you were awake and feeling pretty well, so Mr. Travers thought you might be hungry."
"Thank you," returned Glenning. "I'll be getting up presently. You needn't wait."
The boy moved reluctantly to the door. He had his hand on the knob, then turned.
"I didn't go to the burnin' o' ol' man Dudley's barn," he vouchsafed, in a rather high, scared voice, "but if I'd knowed what you's goin' to do I wouldn't 'a' missed seein' you pull that hoss out. The town's wild about it."