"Thank you, sir."
The doctor smiled in spite of himself and looked away.
Erskine vs. Robinson--The Second Half.
"Doesn't seem to have interfered with your appetite, anyhow," he said, glancing at the well-nigh empty tray on the chair.
"No, sir; I--I tried not to eat much, but I was terribly hungry, Doc."
"Oh, I guess you'll do." He picked up his hat; then he faced the couch again and its occupant. "The trouble with you chaps," he said severely, "is that as long as you've managed to get a silly old leather wind-bag over a fool streak of lime you think it doesn't matter how much you've broke yourselves to pieces."
"Yes, it's very thoughtless of us," murmured Neil with deep contriteness.
"Humph!" growled the doctor. "See you in the morning."
When the door had closed Neil reached toward the tray and with much difficulty buttered a piece of Graham bread, almost the only edible thing left. Then he settled back against the pillows, not without several grimaces as the injured shoulder was moved, and contentedly ate it. He was very well satisfied. To be sure, a month of invalidism was not a pleasing prospect, but things might have been worse. And the end paid for all. Robinson had departed with trailing banners; the coaches and the whole college were happy; Paul was happy; Sydney was happy; he was happy himself. Certainly the bally shoulder--ouch!--hurt at times; but, then one can't have everything one wants. His meditations were interrupted by voices and footsteps outside the front door. He bolted the last morsel of bread and awaited the callers.