So they had to leave Grit there, but he was not in the least in the way, being content to rest beneath the bed, though whenever anyone—nurse or doctor—approached, the dog was ever on the watch.
Dick had to stay in bed three days, and for three days more was a sort of semi-invalid in an easy-chair. Then, the physicians having pronounced all danger past, he was allowed to go out. In the meantime the motor boat was raised and taken away to be repaired.
"Say, I never knew what nice sunshine and fine air we had in this town," said the youth to his father, as he walked down the street with him. "It's worth while being under the weather a bit just to appreciate it when you get out."
"I never knew you had so many friends, Dick," answered his father.
"Friends? How?"
"Why, we had to keep one of the maids busy answering the bell while you were in bed. I guess every boy, and lots of the girls, in Hamilton Corners called to see how you were getting on."
"I'm glad they thought of me," replied the millionaire's son. "I wish I could show I appreciate it."
"Well, I think you can, Dick."
"How?"
"I was going to suggest that you hold a little reception—give a sort of party. That's what we called 'em when I was a boy."