Excited to the highest degree by the brilliant success thus far attained, and knowledge that the boy's life was safe, he longed, O, how ardently! to make a perfect cure, and restore the leg to its original form and efficiency.
He reflected that less discretion and regard to future consequences were to be expected from a lad like Frank than from a grown person; didn't feel satisfied with the old splints, was afraid that, unless he bandaged the leg so tight as to impede the circulation, the restless boy would, just at the critical period when the bone was forming, get the parts out of place.
"I know," said Rich to himself, "that I am mechanic enough to place those bones as they should be, and I'll see if I cannot contrive some way to keep them there in spite of this wide-awake youngster."
He went to bed in order to think about it, and in the morning at the breakfast table said to Mrs. Clemens,—
"Where did you get that blue clay the girl was putting on the floor yesterday to take out a grease-spot? It had no more grit than tailors'-chalk."
"Daniel got it somewhere."
"I got it down in Milliken's Gully, Mr. Richardson. You might cut it with a razor, and not dull the razor; there's not a stone or one mite of grit in it. I got it to make marbles."
Richardson procured a quantity of the clay, dried, pounded, sifted, and made it into a very thin mortar. He then took the splints from Frank's leg, placed the bones precisely as he wanted them, put the leg in a box, fastened the upper portion of his body to the bed that he could not move, and poured the clay mortar into the box till it completely enveloped the leg and foot. He then pulled the bed under the window, where the sun shone full on the clay, took hold of Frank's foot, and sat down.
"How long are you going to keep me lashed down so, Mr. Richardson?"