“Doctor,” she called, “here's a hot-water bag. I thought probably 'twould feel comfortable.”
Doctor Powers accepted the bag and returned to the room, shaking his head.
“That woman's got more sense than a—than a barn full of owls,” he declared, solemnly. “There, Mr. Bangs, that'll warm up your underpinning. Anything more you want? All right, are you?”
“Oh, yes, quite, quite. But really, doctor, I shouldn't permit this. I feel like a trespasser, like—a—a—”
“You feel like going to sleep, that's what I want you to feel like. Lucky the rain has driven off the fog or the foghorn would keep you awake. It sounds like the crack of doom down here. Perhaps you noticed it?”
“Yes, I did—ah—at least that.”
“I shouldn't wonder. Anybody but a graven image would notice the Gould's Bluffs foghorn. Matches right there by the lamp, in case you want 'em. If you feel mean in the night sing out; Martha'll hear you and come in. I'll be on hand in the morning. Good-night, Mr. Bangs.”
He blew out the lamp and departed, closing the door behind him. The rain poured upon the roof overhead and splashed against the panes of the two little windows beneath the eaves. Galusha Bangs, warm and dry for the first time in hours, sank comfortably to sleep.
He woke early, at least he felt sure it was early until he looked at his watch. Then he discovered it was almost nine o'clock. He had had a wonderful night's rest and he felt quite himself, quite well again, he—
Whew! That shoulder WAS a trifle stiff. Yes, and there was a little more lameness in his ankles and knees than he could have wished. Perhaps, after all, he would not get up immediately. He would lie there a little longer and perhaps have the hotel people send up his breakfast, and—Then he remembered that he was not at the hotel; he was occupying a room in the house of a total stranger. No doubt they were waiting breakfast for him. Dear me, dear me!