“It is nothing at all,” he said. “I feel nothing. Only a bit of skin. See,” he cried, lifting his arm up. “There's nothing to it. No broken bones.”
“Let me see, Jack—Mr. Romayne,” she said with white lips.
“Say 'Jack,'” he begged.
“Let me take off your coat—Jack, then. I know a little about this. I have done something at it in Winnipeg.”
Together they removed the coat. The shirt sleeve was hanging in a tangled, bloody mass from the arm.
“Awful!” groaned Kathleen. “Sit down.”
“Oh, nonsense, it is not serious.”
“Sit down, Jack, dear,” she entreated, clasping her hands about his sound arm.
“Say it again,” said Jack.
“Oh, Jack, won't you sit down, please?”