"Why, Jones! Where did you get those clothes?"
Jones was attired in the regulation house-dress of the California grandee, from fluted shirt-front to silver-clasped shoes.
"Found them in my room, with a peon valet ready to assist me into them. Doubtless you'll be treated the same way."
"Well! I'll admire myself. But my bandaged knee wouldn't fit into such trouserettes as you have on."
The bandaging was finished at last. The peon spoke to the patient in Spanish.
"What is he saying?"
"Says for you to go to bed soon. In the morning he will remove the bandages, and hopes your knee will be greatly improved."
"Go to bed. Well, the quarters are sumptuous enough. High-posted bed, mahogany bureaus—one, two, three of them; and chairs, mahogany too, and heavy enough for state occasions. It's all fine, if I only had a bite of something to eat."
The major-domo entered the room, several peons following him, carrying trays on which were steaming dishes.
Smith was quickly arrayed in a flannel dressing gown. A table was laid and moved over to his chair. Savory meats, vegetables, and fruits were ready. Wine was uncorked and placed at the hungry man's hand.