Still undecided, Mr. Brewster stared at the injured man.
“I don’t know—” he began, when the eyes opened again.
“Feeling better?” inquired Polly briskly.
“Yes. The charm works perfectly.”
“Anything I can do, or get, for you, my boy?” inquired Mr. Brewster, stepping forward.
“What’s in the ice-box?” asked the other anxiously.
“Oh!” cried the girl in distress. “He’s starving! When did you eat last?”
“I can’t exactly remember. It was about five this morning, I think. A banana, and, as I recall it, a small one.”
“Dad!” cried the girl, but that prompt and efficient gentleman was already halfway to the cook, dragging Sherwen along as interpreter.
“He’ll get whatever there is in the shortest known time,” the girl assured her patient. “Trust dad. Now, you lie back and let me fix up a fresh bandage.”