But Lin had hot water and cold water and salt, and was an hour upon his knees bathing the hot feet. And then Billy could not eat dinner!
There was a doctor in Golden; but in spite of his light prescription and most reasonable observations, Mr. McLean passed a foolish night of vigil, while Billy slept, quite well at first, and, as the hours passed, better and better. In the morning he was entirely brisk, though stiff.
“I couldn't work quick to-day,” he said. “But I guess one day won't lose me my trade.”
“How d' yu' mean?” asked Lin.
“Why, I've got regulars, you know. Sidney Ellis an' Pete Goode has theirs, an' we don't cut each other. I've got Mr. Daniels an' Mr. Fisher an' lots, an' if you lived in Denver I'd shine your boots every day for nothing. I wished you lived in Denver.”
“Shine my boots? Yu'll never! And yu' don't black Daniels or Fisher, or any of the outfit.”
“Why, I'm doing first-rate,” said Billy, surprised at the swearing into which Mr. McLean now burst. “An' I ain't big enough to get to make money at any other job.”
“I want to see that engine-man,” muttered Lin. “I don't like your smokin' friend.”
“Pete Goode? Why, he's awful smart. Don't you think he's smart?”
“Smart's nothin',” observed Mr. McLean.