Norah told her unwillingly. “Nothing to make a fuss over,” she added, in great confusion.
“I guess you saved Joe’s life, an’ perhaps my Dave’s as well,” the woman said. “We won’t forget you. Good night, sir, an’ thank you both.”
Norah had no wish to be thanked, being of opinion that she had done less than nothing at all. She was feeling rather sick, and—amazing feeling for Norah—inclined to cry. She was very glad to get into bed at the hotel, and eagerly welcomed her father’s suggestion that he should sit for a while in her room. Norah did not know that it was dawn before Mr. Linton left his watch by the restless sleeper, quiet now, and sought his own couch.
She woke late, from a dream of lions and elephants, and men who moaned softly. Her father was by her bedside.
“Breakfast, lazy bones,” he said.
“How’s the tamer?” queried Norah, sitting up.
“Getting on all right. He wants to see you.”
“Me!” said Norah. “Whatever for?”
“We’ve got to find that out,” said her father, withdrawing.
They found out after breakfast, when a grateful, white-faced man, swathed in bandages, stammered broken thanks.