“A little,” said Toby. “What happened to your hand?”
“Oh, that?” Tubb held up his left hand and looked at a bleeding knuckle. “Why, I barked it against the corner of Dudley. It was sort of dark and I tried to turn too soon. Struck it against the stone, I guess. It’s just a scratch.”
“You keep on,” observed Ramsey dryly, “and your folks won’t know you! Isn’t he a picture, Tucker?”
Toby assented unsmilingly. Tubb did look fairly disreputable, for white surgeon’s tape crossed and recrossed his nose over a pad of gauze and gave him a peculiarly villainous appearance.
“Suppose you heard about this?” asked Tubb significantly, touching the wounded member gingerly. Toby nodded. “That’s our friend Frick again. It’s all right, though. Just one more little favor to return.”
“Seen him since?” asked Toby carelessly.
“Only at a respectable and safe distance,” replied Tubb, smiling. He looked and sounded truthful, but Toby gave another look at the bleeding knuckle and doubted.
“Well,” he said after a moment, “I hope you’ll keep away from him, Tubb. You know we sort of decided you would.”
“Yes, I know. That’s all right. Friend Frick can wait. I’m in no hurry. I was afraid that I might forget about him by the time there was any comeback, but now, after this little memento, there’s no danger of it!”