Boatwright slipped back into the room.
“They're coming,” he said breathlessly. “In a minute. Mary sleeps in most of her clothes anyway, these days.”
“What is it about Betty?” Doane asked sharply.
“Oh—she's quite all right. We don't see much of her, not being in the same house. We're all pretty busy here, these days. It's an ugly time. I—I was just wondering. I don't know what we can dress you in. You could hardly wear my things. One of the Australians is nearly as big as you. Perhaps in the morning...”
His voice had risen a little, nearly to the querulous, as he hurriedly drew on his outer clothing. From the way his eyes wandered about the room it appeared that his thoughts had run far afield. And he was clumsy about the buttons. Even the intensely preoccupied Doane became aware of this, and for a moment studied him with a puzzled look.
The little man's tongue ran on. “Mary'll fix you up for now. Sleep'll be the best thing. In the morning you can use my shaving things. And I'll look up that Australian.... There they are!”
He hurried to the door. Dr. Cassin came in, greeted
Griggsby Doane with a warm hand-clasp, and at once examined his shoulder. Boatwright she sent over to the dispensary for bandages.
A moment later Mrs. Boatwright appeared, her strong person wrapped in a quilted robe.
“This is a great relief,” she said. “We had given you up.”