"I think Dr. Grill will do everything that ought to be done," said Jack. "There's nothing you can do now, but perhaps we can think of something when Jimmy begins to get well."
"Then you think he will get well?" said Ned.
"I hope he will," said Jack.
"I tell you what 'tis," said Ned, as we continued our walk toward home, "that Jack-in-the-Box is the nicest fellow that ever waved a flag. Sometimes I think he knows more than Father does."
A day or two later, Ned went to see his aunt, and I went with him.
"Aunt Mercy," said he, "one of the best boys in this town has got badly hurt—run over down by the depot—and his folks are so awful poor I don't see what they're going to do."
"Yes, I heard about it," said Aunt Mercy. "It was that wretched, brutal brother of yours who was to blame for it all."
"Oh no, Aunty, Fay had nothing at all to do with it," said Ned.
"Don't tell me, child; you needn't try to shield your wicked brother; I know all about it. Miss Pinkham came to call on me, and told me the whole story. She said the poor little fellow tipped over a type or something, and one of those Rogers boys drove him away, and swore at him dreadfully, and made him go and sell papers under the wheels of the cars and omnibuses, to get money to pay for it. Of course I knew which one it was, but I did not say anything, I felt so deeply mortified for the family."
It is difficult to say what answer Ned ought to have made to this. To convince his aunt that Miss Pinkham's version of the story was incorrect, would have been hopeless; to plead guilty to the indictment as it stood, would have been unjust to himself; and to leave matters as they were, seemed unjust to his brother. And above all was the consideration that if he vexed his aunt, he would probably defeat the whole object of his visit—getting help for Jimmy. So he remained silent.