“Yes; and then there was, oh, such a fat lady! She said she once had a boy just like you, and she made me promise to give you chicken broth every day. You have a lot of friends in that circus.”
“Where am I?” asked Jack, beginning to feel a little better at these evidences of care.
“Why, you’re in a room at the hotel, and I’m a sort of nurse. Mr. Rain—I mean Mr. Paine—engaged me for you before he left. Now you’re to be quiet, for the doctor doesn’t want you to get excited.”
“How long will I have to stay here?” asked Jack.
“Oh, about a month. But don’t fret.”
“A month? Why, the show will close then, and I can’t be with it. Who’ll do my act? I must go!”
He tried to sit up, but the pain in his leg, and the ache in his head, made him fall back on the pillow. The nurse gave him some quieting medicine, and he soon fell asleep. When he awakened he felt much better, though he was almost heartbroken at the thought of being left behind. He questioned the nurse and she told him what had happened.
There had been some flaw in the umbrella he used, and it had collapsed, letting him fall almost the entire forty feet to the ground. That he had not been worse hurt was regarded as very fortunate. The show had been obliged to go on, but Mr. Paine had left a goodly sum with the hotel proprietor for Jack’s board, and had also left a note telling the boy that all his savings, including his salary to the end of the season, would be held for him, and sent wherever he requested.
So there was nothing for Jack to do but to remain in bed. How he longed to be with the show, and performing his act again, even after the accident, no one but himself knew. He said nothing about it to the nurse, but there was a great longing in his heart.
The nurse and the hotel people were kind to him, but all the while the boy was becoming more and more homesick. He was worrying and fretting about his parents, and he had about made up his mind to write to Professor Klopper. This fretting did him no good, in fact it increased his fever.