“Why did you wait for me to wake up?”
“Davis left some of that salve for your hands. I knew you couldn’t apply it yourself and get the bandages back on again, so—”
“You did yourself out of some sleep for my sake—Well, you certainly are a good chap, Osceola! Let me get under that shower and then we’ll go to it on the first aid job.”
When Bill’s hands were dressed, Osceola went to his room, while his host spent a quiet morning lazing about the house. After lunch the boys fetched Dorothy and Deborah and drove down to the Beach Club. While Bill lay on the sand in the sun, the other three took a dip in the invigorating waters of Long Island Sound.
After ice cream and cakes on the Club House porch, they drove up into the hills to New Canaan again, much refreshed by their outing. All mention of winged cartwheels had been taboo throughout the afternoon, and Bill felt that he was ready to face the forthcoming adventure in Greenwich with added vim and a head swept clear of the cobwebs of worry and too much excitement. They dropped the girls at the Dixons’ and after driving home, found Mr. Davis smoking on the porch.
“Well, you men,” he greeted them with a jolly smile, “have you had a real lazy—and therefore profitable—day of it?”
“We sure have,” said Osceola. “Not only ourselves but the girls as well. We’ve just come back from a swim in the Sound. Poor Bill missed out on that end of it, though.”
“Glad you’ve had a good rest,” observed the secret service man, “you both needed it. Let’s have a look at the hands, Bill.”
“They certainly feel all to the merry,” said their owner, as the bandages were removed.
“And they are all to the merry, Bill.” Mr. Davis gently wiped away the brown salve with a clean piece of linen. “Just a little red, that’s all. They’ve healed by first intention, as I knew they would. Go easy with them for a couple of days and they’ll give you no more trouble.”