"He'll feel better now," he said to Rosemary as they walked slowly down the road, extending their walk to enjoy the beauty of the summer evening. "His finger was throbbing and beginning to fester and must have given him great pain all day."
"Here comes Warren," whispered Rosemary.
Warren looked warm and tired. He stopped when he saw them and Rosemary would have walked on with a short "Hello!" had not her brother's hand upon her arm held her.
"You've been down to the bungalow?" said Warren, after he had thanked them for the fish and congratulated the fisherman on his luck. "I'm sorry I missed you."
"We went to see Jack," Rosemary informed him pointedly. "He's sick."
"Jack sick?" Warren looked surprised and, though she would not have admitted it, concerned.
"Not sick—but he has rather a nasty cut on one finger," corrected Doctor Hugh. "He'll be all right, if he follows directions."
Warren's eyes were troubled.
"I'm afraid he's having a tough time," he said regretfully. "I'm sorry, but—" he left the sentence unfinished.
The storm signals in Rosemary's expressive face were easily interpreted by her brother. He said good night to Warren and they resumed their walk.