“Nothing doing,” insisted Jack. “You have to be taken care of by a doctor right away. And it’s better your father does it than anyone else.”
“All right, but don’t tell him what happened. Just say I fell.”
Jack ran up the step to the porch and rang the night bell. About two minutes later, Dr. Morrison, in his pajamas and bath robe, answered the door. Seeing who it was, he exclaimed, “Why, Jack, is there anything wrong?”
Jack thought for a few seconds what to say. “Er, Dr. Morrison,” he began, “don’t be alarmed but er—”
The doctor was impatient and he cried, “Well, well?”
“You see, Paul was hurt and—”
“Where is he?” was the direct and decisive question. “I thought he was in his room and asleep long ago.”
They went around to the back of the porch. The doctor looked at Paul’s wound and said, “Let’s go into the office and I’ll fix you up.” The boys followed. At the door the doctor turned to them and said, “You go home, fellows; it’s late.”
Jack compressed his lips and gritted his teeth. He wanted to ask if the wound was serious or if there was anything he could do to help. But the doctor seemed not to want them around. He waited until Paul and his father entered the house and closed the door. Ken whispered, “All right, Jack, let’s go. There is nothing more we can do here.”
Crossing the street, they separated and each went home to sleep and to think over everything that happened that evening.