"How is the head?" the man asked, with his fingers on the pulse.
"Fine, doctor. Wouldn't know I had one if it were not for these bandages. And your arm, sir?" he added, with a smile of recognition toward the elderly man.
"Doing fairly, thank you. It is broken, but our friend here thinks it will come along all right."
The doctor, with a nod of approval returned the watch to his pocket and was preparing to leave when his patient detained him with a question.
"I have not been able to locate myself. This is not a hospital, is it?"
"Hardly," smiled the other, "although it answers the purpose admirably. This is the Brownstone Hotel."
"With rooms at twenty per!" gasped the invalid. "Doctor, some one has blundered. After buying my railroad ticket I had just four dollars left, and no chance in the world of getting hold of any more until I connect with a job."
The men laughed.
"I must be going," said the doctor. "You two can chat for a while. Don't tire yourself out, young man, and in a day or two you will be fit as a fiddle. Wish I had your physique! That system of yours is a natural shock absorber. We run across them once in a long while—half-killed one day and back the next hunting for more on the rebound."
At the door he paused: "Take care of yourself, eat anything that looks good to you, smoke if you want to, talk, read, sleep, and in the morning we will let you get up and stretch your legs. Good by!"