“No expense spared, if it’s a hundred dollars a day.”
“He shall have every care.”
“And doctor,” added the voice pleadingly, “let me see him. Just a word. Only to tell him my gratitude—the hero who saved the life of my only treasure in the world, my darling little Lena.”
“Come to-morrow morning, Mr. Knippel. He must be kept quiet now.”
“Ah,” murmured Ben, “the man of the gig! It was his child I helped at the runaway,” and then a queer weak feeling overcame him, and he drifted into a dream before he could learn or even think of anything further.
Later in the day, however, Ben was awake once more, and strong enough to learn that he had grazed death very narrowly in that terrific runaway experience. The hospital physician explained that there were bruises and fractures that absolute rest alone could prevent from turning into something critical. Ben took it all in seriously enough. Then he surprised the doctor by suddenly laughing outright.
“You’re a merry chap,” observed the physician brightly, “what’s the funny bone idea now?”
“Why, I was just thinking,” explained Ben, “here I go hundreds of miles in an airship that makes people shudder and escape without a scratch. Then I take a fifty-yard ride in an old gig four feet from the ground, and get a tumble that lays me flat. Why, it’s like the old sailor who sailed the five oceans for half a century, came home, fell into a ditch with two feet of water in it, and drowned.”
There was a tap at the door, and the doctor admitted Ben’s mother. She was too sensible a woman to show her concern and make a scene. Not so John Davis, however, who arrived shortly afterwards. The big hearted old aviator sniffled like a schoolboy at a sight of the pride of his eyes lying helpless on a hospital cot.
“Why, the doctor says I’ll be as well as ever in a week,” remonstrated Ben airily, but really affected at the devotion of his good friend.