“It’s nothing, nothing at all, little girl,” soothed Joe, his arms about her. “Just a little spill on the field. Be all right in a week. Ask Doc Dougherty, if you don’t believe me.”
Mabel held him off anxiously at arm’s length and looked appealingly at Jim.
“Is he telling me the truth? Is he?”
“Well, I like that!” said Joe, before Jim could answer. “As if I didn’t always tell you the truth?”
“You know, I never make it my business to interfere in the quarrels of husband and wife,” drawled the familiar tones of Reggie, as, attracted by the sound of voices, he strolled in from the other room. “In fact, quarrels of any kind are foreign to my gentle disposition, don’t you know. But on this occasion, I really feel called upon to interrupt. Jim, my dear fellow, how is the old bean to-day? Rippin’, from the looks of it, what? My word, brother-in-law,” turning to Joe and adjusting his monocle so as to scrutinize him the better, “you have been indulging in a fisticuff of some sort, yes? Tried to do for the old teammates, did you?”
“Oh, leave him alone, Reggie, do!” protested Mabel, all tender solicitude, as she led Joe to a chair and forced him into it. “Can’t you see he is all tired out? Now don’t talk, dear, unless you want to,” she added to Joe, placing a cushion behind his head and looking at him anxiously, her pretty head on one side.
Joe heaved a contented sigh and smiled up at her.
“As long as you don’t tell me not to look at you, I don’t care!” he said.