"Nothing is the matter with me," answered Steve, the harsh lines that had grown on his face during the night smoothing out into a wan, but sunny smile.
"Well, if there isn't there ought to be, for you are about the worst-looking object I ever saw."
"You—you wouldn't take a prize yourself, at—at——"
"At a poultry show, no," finished Jarvis. "Come along; are you going home, or would you rather hang around here?"
"Home?" answered Steve.
"I think you will have to be carried, if you get there to-day. Shall I go get a rig for you? You're clean knocked out."
"I tell you I am all right," retorted Rush, with some show of irritation. "Don't you trouble yourself about me."
Bob gazed at his companion in surprise. Steve had never spoken to him in that tone before, so Jarvis kept still for a time as they went on across the yards, over the hot metal bridge and to the lower exit from the yards. As they were passing out they met Ignatz Brodsky coming in. The Pole stopped short, peering into the face of Steve Rush.
"What the matter with you?"