“I hope so, Jackson,” replied Bryant, kindly. “We’ll see when he comes.”
But the doctor was far less optimistic. He examined the ankle, pronounced it fractured, and ordered Nat to the hospital where an X-ray could be taken before the bones were set.
Nat, who had endured the pain like a Spartan, burst into tears.
“What will become of us—of my mother, Peter?” he moaned.
“Now don’t you get all fussed up, Nat,” said Peter soothingly. “Leave things to me. I’ll take care of your mother and attend to the house rent. I have plenty of money. You know I have been saving it up ever since I came here.”
“Oh, but Peter—I couldn’t think of taking your money!” Nat protested.
“Stuff! Of course you can take it! I should like to know whose money you would take if not mine. Anyway you can’t help yourself. I have you in my power now and you’ve got to do just as I say.”
“But I don’t see how I can ever pay it back, Peter.”
“No matter.”
“It does matter.”