“Oh, not slighted,” protested Mollie. “It is something that will amuse you.”
“What is it?” asked a voice from the doorway. “I am palpitating to know.”
Everybody looked up in surprise at the apparition of Jimmie regarding the company gravely with his one good eye. His other eye was swathed in a bandage, and his nose was swollen and red. There was a joyous peal of laughter from the assembled party.
“Why, Jimmie,” cried Martin, “you look like an exhausted Dutchman.”
“Don’t throw stones, my son,” replied Jimmie. “You’re a Dutchman yourself, remember.”
“Come in and have some dinner, Jimmie,” coaxed the major.
“I’ve dined, thank you, sir. My kind nurse saw to that, and I feel considerably better.”
“How did you happen to black your eye, you poor boy?” asked Mollie.
Stephen cleared his throat audibly. Why on earth had he not cautioned Mollie not to ask Jimmie any questions? But Ruth came to the rescue and he breathed a sigh of relief.
“You mustn’t ask Jimmie embarrassing questions, Mollie. A black eye and a red nose are enough to bear for the present.”