This time the white-haired doctor paid more attention to his bones than he did to Billy. He didn’t say anything till he went to put his glasses back in the case. Then he straightened up, and said:
“I’m happy to tell you, young man, that those joints will work all right after they get used to working again.”
The next day Billy went down the long flight of stairs, with Mr. Prescott on one side, and the nurse on the other, to the great library, right under the room where he had been.
“Feel pretty well, now that you’re down?” asked Mr. Prescott, after the nurse had gone up-stairs.
“Sure, sir,” answered Billy.
“Then follow me,” said Mr. Prescott, opening a door at the end of the library.
Billy followed, but he had hardly stepped in before he stepped back.
“Why, Billy,” said Mr. Prescott, coming quickly back to him, “I didn’t mean to frighten you. We’ll stay in the library.”
Now the doctor had told Mr. Prescott that Billy mustn’t be frightened by anything if they could help it, for he’d been through about all a boy’s nerves could stand. So Mr. Prescott drew Billy over to the big sofa, fixed some pillows around him, and put a foot-rest under his leg.
Then Mr. Prescott settled himself in a great chair as though he had nothing in the world to do except to talk to Billy.