“Well, I hope so. If that fellow wants to make trouble for me he can do it to the King’s taste.”
“He won’t, though, if he knows he’s going to get his money, eh? You sit tight, old chap, and don’t worry.”
“Oh, I’m tight, all right,” answered Bert, with a grin. “They’ve got me strapped and plastered and bandaged until I can hardly breathe! I’m coming back Monday; Doc said I might. This isn’t so bad, though, and Mother Prouty’s a corker.”
“You’ve got it all to yourself, haven’t you?” asked Hugh, viewing the two empty cots. “If you get lonesome I’ll develop a mysterious illness and get lugged over here. I dare say I’d better be toddling along now, though. Do they let you read?”
“Why not? I don’t have to use my ribs to read, do I? By the way, I wish you’d drop around tomorrow morning and bring my geometry and Greek reader. And you might fetch a paper, too. Good night.”
In the corridor below Hugh encountered Pop, a rather damaged looking Pop, with a puffy green and purple left eye and a long scratch on his nose. When he learned that Hugh had just come from the infirmary he turned back.
“I guess I won’t go up then,” he said. “How is he? What’s the damage?”
Hugh told him as they left the building and turned their steps toward Trow, and Pop expressed relief. “Some fellow said he’d broken his collar-bone. A rib isn’t so bad. Davy’ll have him bundled up and playing in a few days. What did you think of the game?”
“A little bit of all right, Pop! And, I say, you certainly did for Lambert, what?”
“Lambert? No.”