“I tell you, honest, Miss Travers, I don’t need no doctor,” protested Marty.
“Just to have a look,” decided Ben. “Which way, Trix?”
“In that side street. That lamp post. Here we are!”
Gloria protested successfully against “bringing in” her cut and bruised hands. She just wouldn’t.
The doctor was in, although Marty hoped he wasn’t. He hated to have those muddy feet of his overhauled.
“Just a strained ligament,” pronounced the big friendly man. He patted Marty fondly. “Keep off the foot all you can for a few days.”
Outside Gloria was pacifying Tommy. She felt guilty of desertion but couldn’t he see? Wasn’t there an awful lot for her to do out in Sandford?
“And you’re very good friends with Ben now, aren’t you?” she asked.
“You bet. He’s taught me a lot. Ben’s awful smart What he says he can do he does. Just you wait and see him drain out your muddy cellar,” enthused Tommy, his eyes as blue as ever.
“I believe he will,” agreed Gloria. Trixy and Ben were leading Marty back now. His smile sent the verdict on ahead.