"I'm not," said the boy, flushing suddenly.
He took the knife and began to cut the tough leather: a delicate operation, for Jeff's leg from knee to ankle was terribly swollen. Slowly and delicately the knife did its work. Finally, a horribly contused limb was revealed.
"Cold water--and plenty of it," murmured Jeff.
"Or hot?"
"Mebbee hot'd be better."
Bud disappeared, whistling.
"That boy's earning a five-dollar bill," said Jeff. "I'm a liar if he ain't as bright as they make 'em."
The hot water was brought and some linen.
"I feel a heap better," Jeff declared presently.
"How about dinner?"