There was a silence which Jason struggled in vain to break.
Then a young fellow who carried a buggy whip and smoked a cigar said, "How does the doctoring go, Jason?"
"Well, thanks," returned Jason, looking at the young fellow, intently. It was Billy Ames, he of the striped pants.
Back through Jason's heart, until now strangely softened by the happenings of the past few days, surged the accumulated bitterness of his poverty-stricken youth. He turned abruptly and left the store.
His mother was watching for him, anxiously. "Jason, Pilgrim had an accident. He's got a frightful cut on his right fore shoulder. He must have got caught on a nail somehow."
"Let's have a look at him," said Jason.
The big gray was standing stolidly in his stall. Mrs. Wilkins held the candle while Jason examined him. On the right fore shoulder was a great three-cornered tear from which the skin hung in a bloody fold.
"I'll have to sew it up." Jason was all surgeon now. "Do you think he'll stand still for us?"
"Stand still," replied Jason's mother, indignantly. "Why, he'll know exactly what you are doing, and why."
"All right then. You get me some clean rags and a darning-needle and I'll get the rest of the things I'll need."