Webster leaned back in his chair and wagged his head from side to side.
“What you need,” stated he, impressively, “is to have someone legally appointed to look after you. The first thing you know, you’ll be given an acting part in one of these little dramas that you appear to have grown so fond of; and then we’ll have to gather you up carefully with a rake.”
Kenyon nodded, humorously.
“Do you know,” said he, “I’d been thinking along that line. It’s one of the logical resultants, I suppose; but then we all must take our chances, you see.”
“Is there another story?” asked Webster.
“Not exactly. Rather, a continuation of the same one.”
“All the better. If there are no restrictions such as the surgeon labored under last night, I’d like to hear it.”
In a low voice and in as few words as possible Kenyon related his experiences of the preceding night, while Garry listened in silence. When he had finished, the young man from Chicago murmured, helplessly.
“Well, this is a wonderful world, to be sure! And there are astonishing things happening in it. It would have been a great deal better for the unknown from Butte if he had remained comfortably in his cot at Bellevue and allowed them to doctor at him. Do you know,” after a pause, “I should like to get a peep at your friend Hong Yo. He must be an exceedingly interesting person.”
“He is,” replied Kenyon. “But he is nothing like as interesting as some of the others.”