"How about the six weeks' lay-up?"
"I'll get a good rest and plenty to eat—at the county's expense. Why should I worry?" smiled Good.
"Then you refuse to accept a cheque?" demanded Roger.
"Of course."
Roger was so full of his own suspicions that it never occurred to him to question their justice. And the blithe and offhand way in which this ragamuffin declined his cheque only seemed to confirm his belief that he was playing for higher stakes. He lost his patience entirely.
"You'd rather wait till you can get some quack lawyer," he sneered, "and then try to bleed us for a big wad, eh?"
The man on the bed opened his eyes in amazement.
"Good Lord," he cried, "what kind of people have you been brought up with?"
"Well, just let me tell you, my friend," went on Roger hotly, "that you won't get a cent by that game. My sister has a witness to prove that the accident was all your own fault...."
"Well," interrupted the stranger, a little wearily, "that's right. What are you fussing about?"