"Hello, Ben!" he chanted with an infectious smile. "I would like to shake, but my hands are wrapped up just like a petrified mummy."
Naturally I looked pleased that matters were no worse, and he continued to talk.
"Say, Ben, it was good of you to stick, bring me here, and then come every day to see me. I woke up in the night and the nurse—God bless her—she is a kind soul—she told me all about it."
"Hiram, as we were sort of partners in crime I had to stick."
"But say, we brought the ship in, didn't we? Sit around nearer the foot of the bed where I can see you. My tongue is about the only part of me I can move. Every bone in my body feels as though it was broken twice, and every rib creaks when I breathe. Job never had anything on me." He tried to laugh, but brought up short, ending with a groan.
"You'll be all right in a day or two if you take things easy."
"Oh, I'll not stay here long, Doc or no Doc. I'm only sore and that doesn't count for much. Ben, do you know what I would like to have right now?—a porterhouse steak, thick as a flagstone, smothered in mushrooms, and I'm going to have it if there's one in the town. By the way, what town are we in, Ben?"
"Better stick here till to-morrow anyway, then we will see how you feel," I said, ignoring his question.
"All right, old partner, but not a minute longer—they're mighty good to me, but I don't like the carbolic odor that comes floating down the hall. It makes me think of a Long Island fertilizing plant, or a morgue."
The next morning he put on his clothes, which had been renovated and pressed, with many "Oh's" and "Ah's" and "Ouch's," but withal he was good-natured and smiling. Then we started after the much coveted porterhouse and mushrooms. At first he toddled like an aged man, holding on to me. The effort was painful, but in a short time his locomotion was normal and likewise his good nature.