The sensitive soul of Mr. Jones rebelled at this public outcry of his physical defects. “Say, you big chump,” he burst out, “don’t you know any better than to bawl a fellow out that way in a place where everybody can hear you? That’s a dickens of a thing to do.”
“Come on. Nobody was listening.” Kelly looked about as if disappointed at failing to find an audience awaiting other personal allusions. “It’s the truth,” he maintained vigorously.
Mr. Jones hesitated, torn as many another good man, between his vanity and his appetite. Before his eyes flowed a tantalizing stream of those delicacies so dear to his palate. In his pocket reposed two dimes, his wealth until pay day on the morrow would replenish his purse. Why should not a good fellow entertain his friends even though they resort to personal comments? Rent by conflicting desires, he jingled the coins. As he fingered them, there flashed the remembrance of the war tax. He turned to Kelly and his voice was very sad, as he murmured, “I guess that you’re right, old man. We’ll cut out the sweet stuff.”
They had no difficulty in locating Joe Curtis. His sunny characteristics had won him already wide spread friendships among the hospital staff, so that the way to his bed was indicated as the path to a neighbor’s door.
Kelly grinned amiably at Miss Knight, and inquired, “May I speak to Joe Curtis?”
The nurse looked at the big fellow with the appraising eye of a connoisseur of men. “Sure,” she retorted, “if you can talk and he will give you a chance to.”
The participants in this repartee were much pleased with its cleverness. They laughed loudly.
Mr. Jones, considering the remarks frivolous, did not deign to unbend from a stately poise assumed by him when in the presence of ladies. Miss Knight was evidently a person of ordinary origin, lacking in discrimination. She had failed to notice the stenographer, confining her attentions, including her smiles, to the husky Kelly.
“Here’s another friend, Joe,” the nurse told the injured motorcyclist when they arrived at his bedside. She failed to take account of Mr. Jones who had progressed down the aisle with mien of great distinction. His entrance was marred only by a remark of a vulgar patient who in a coarse whisper desired to be advised, “Who let Charlie Chaplin in?” much to the amusement of other low fellows.
“Hello, Joe, how’s business?” asked Kelly.