“Are you going to stay while we do it?” asked a maker of mineral waters, who whined at the prayer meetings of a soul saved and roared at his employees like a soul damned.
“Oh, don’t be a fool!” was the impatient reply. “I’ve a grown-up girl and I’ve had a husband. Don’t pull at his vest like that. Go away. You don’t know how. I’ve had experience—my husband... There, wait till I cut it away with the scissors. Cover him with the quilt. Now, then, catch hold of his trousers under the quilt, and draw them off slowly.... There you are—and nothing to shock the modesty of a grown-up woman or any other when a life’s at stake. What does the Young Doctor say?”
“Hush! He’s coming to,” interposed the banker. It was as though the quiet that followed the removal of his clothes and the touch of Mrs. Tynan’s hand on his head had called Crozier back from unconsciousness.
The first face he saw was that of the banker. In spite of the loss of blood and his pitiable condition, a whimsical expression came to his eyes. “Lucky for you you didn’t lend me the money,” he said feebly.
The banker shook his head. “I’m not thinking of that, Mr. Crozier. God knows, I’m not!”
Crozier caught sight of Mrs. Tynan. “It’s hard on you to have me brought here,” he murmured as she took his hand.
“Not so hard as if they hadn’t,” she replied. “That’s what a home’s for—not just a place for eating and drinking and sleeping.”
“It wasn’t part of the bargain,” he said weakly.
“It was my part of the bargain.”
“Here’s Kitty,” said the maker of mineral waters, as there was the swish of a skirt at the door.