After a deep and dreamless sleep of seven hours, Vane opened his eyes and beheld Jard Hassock standing beside his bed.
“Mister, you’re a wonder!” exclaimed Jard. “I didn’t get it all last night, we was that busy runnin’ round pertendin’ we was tryin’ to put out the fire, jist to fool old Dave—but Tom McPhee’s been here this mornin’. What d’ye say to ham an’ aigs an’ hot biscuits?”
“In ten minutes I’ll show you,” replied Vane, sitting up.
“Now you stop right where you are,” returned the other. “I’m fetchin’ it on a tray—an’ proud to do it! Say, Tom’s told me all about how you flopped that ladder over an’ skun up an’ div head first through that window! It was Tom McPhee you passed Joe out to. A cool head an’ a cool hand, mister—an’ them’s things I admire. Tea or coffee?”
“It was easy,” said Vane. “There was no danger. How’s Joe?”
“Fine an’ dandy this mornin’, but ten minutes more of the smoke would of done the trick, the doctor says. Did you say coffee, or tea?”
“Coffee, if it’s the same to you, thanks very much.”
Hassock went, but was back in ten minutes with a large tray loaded to capacity. Later he even fetched a pail of hot water, then returned to the kitchen, leaving Vane to his own devices. He sat down in a splint-bottomed chair close to the kitchen stove, and lit his pipe.
“It’s him,” he said to his sister. “He’s the very identical lad we heard about who stopped a week at Wilson’s camp an’ washed himself all over in the little rubber bathtub you could fold up an’ put in your pocket. It’s him. I kinder guessed it last night. His name’s Vane.”
“Well, there’s no harm in a bath,” replied Miss Hassock. “A good wash all over never hurt anyone, that I’ve ever heard tell of.”