"That is all right too," said Polly cheerfully, and trying to talk of something else.
"Let me feed Pickering, do," begged Phronsie, slipping from the bed, "while Doctor looks at your arm, Polly."
"I can wait," said the doctor, moving down to the foot of the four-poster, where he stood looking at the feeding process, "and I can go in and see Mr. Loughead meanwhile."
Pickering dodged the spoon, nearly in his mouth. "Who?" he cried.
"Dear me," cried Polly, trying to save the gruel drops from falling on
Mrs. Higby's crazy quilt, "how you frightened me, Pickering."
"Who did he say?" demanded Pickering, as Dr. Bryce went out.
"Pickering," said Polly, with shining eyes, "who do you think you and
Ben saved so bravely? Jack Loughead's uncle, who has just got here from
Australia, and he's"—
Pickering gave a groan and turned on his pillow. "Don't give me any more, Polly," he said, putting up his hand.
Polly set the spoon in the gruel bowl, with a disappointed air.
"Never mind," said the young doctor, coming back again, "he's eaten enough. Now may I see your arm?" He turned to Polly gently. "We must go in the other room for that," with a nod at Pickering.