His dismal reflections were arrested by the opening of Gwen’s eyes. She sat up dizzily and gazed about her as if looking upon a world unknown.
“Where am I?” she faltered. “Oh!” she moaned, and held her head.
Johnny’s thoughts touched the bottom of despair.
But the next moment she was looking at him and actually smiling. “I suppo-pose,” she said uncertainly, “that you’d call—call that a ‘hay—hay maker’?“
Johnny grinned in spite of himself. “It was,” he agreed.
“And I—I ran into your ‘hay maker.’”
“Something like that,” Johnny agreed, sitting down beside her. “I hope you feel better.”
She did not answer, but sat staring at the sawdust. They remained in just that position until Johnny’s watch had ticked off a hundred and twenty seconds. He knew it was a hundred and twenty for he counted them all.
“I suppose,” he said, when he could endure the silence no longer, “that that’s the end of it?”
“I suppose so,” she agreed.