It was Roger's turn to open his eyes in amazement.
"You mean—you admit—it was your fault?" he stammered.
"Of course. I was thinking about—something else—usually am—when your sister rang her bell. I didn't hear it, at first. When I did, I—well—I don't know—guess I just stepped the wrong way. It's my own fault for getting chewed up. Don't worry, my boy, there won't be any damage suit. I haven't any claim—besides I'm a good sight more afraid of lawyers than you are."
Roger stared in silent astonishment. "You are a queer one," he ejaculated finally.
The injured man smiled, a little sadly.
"You're awfully young to be so suspicious of your fellow man," he said almost to himself. Then, more briskly and cheerfully, he addressed himself to the very surprised and humiliated Roger.
"Now that we've got that settled, let's tackle the next question. When are you going to ship me into town?"
"We're not going to ship you in," answered Roger, very chastened.
Good lifted his eyebrows. "Not going to? What's the answer?"
"My sister intends to have you stay where you are." Then he added in a more friendly tone, "It's the least we can do for you, you know."