“You never saw any, Sammy Pinkney!” exclaimed Tess.
“Well, I never looked for any,” he declared.
“Anyway,” said Dot with determination, “they shan’t have my Alice-doll. I won’t save our lives by throwing her to ’em, so there.”
“There aren’t wolves here, are there, Daddy?” asked Margy Pendleton of the injured man.
“I don’t expect ever to see any,” he said faintly. “I—I don’t know what your mother will say to this, Reginald——”
“I’m not Reginald,” exclaimed the little boy anxiously. “Do call me Shot. Please, Daddy!”
This time his father managed to call up a smile. “All right, my boy. As you had nothing to do with choosing your name, I don’t know but you should be allowed to use it as you see fit. Your great-uncle, Silas Shotford, was a very good man. Oh!”
“Does it hurt you, Mr. Pendleton?” asked Ruth at this point. “Are you in pain? Can we help you?”
“I am afraid there is nothing you can help me about, Miss,” said the man. “If I move that arm it seems to send a shock through my nerves. This is going to be awful,” he murmured, “if I am made helpless.”
“What is your business, Mr. Pendleton?” asked the collegian bluntly. “If you are laid up will it matter seriously in your domestic affairs?”