Of what followed Theo had only a vague idea. He remembered that his father and Mr. Croyden raised him in their arms, and that in spite of their gentleness he had cried with pain at their touch. Then he had been put on his bed where his father proceeded to examine the injured leg. Every motion the Doctor made caused the boy intense agony. Afterward he had been allowed to rest, and then his father bent over him very gravely and with trembling lips said:
"Son, I've got to hurt you; I've got to hurt you a great deal. Your leg is broken, and we are miles from a hospital. I have no ether to give you, and the bone must be set. I want you to be as brave as you can and bear the pain that I must cause you. I need not tell you that I will work as gently as possible. Now pull yourself together and show me the sort of son I have. The more steady your nerve is the more it will help me, and the sooner I can finish what I must do."
"All right, Father."
"That's the stuff!" ejaculated Mr. Croyden, who was standing at the bedside. "You are a genuine Spartan, Theo."
The lad smiled feebly.
"I'll try to be."
"Of course you will! You are your father's own boy."
Dr. Swift stooped and touched the drawn forehead with his cool hand.
"I am going to leave you with Mr. Croyden for a few moments while I get some of the things I need," he said in a low tone. "Keep perfectly still and rest a little if you can. There is no need for you to worry. We will have you all fixed up within an hour. It is a clean break—a merciful thing, for we couldn't take an X-ray of it if we wanted to."