"No, not so very," replied the trained nurse cheerfully. "But you must keep quiet if you are to get well quickly. The doctor will be in to see you soon."
Joe sunk into a sort of doze, and when he awakened again the doctor was in his room.
"Well, how about me?" asked the young performer.
"You might be a whole lot worse," replied the medical man with a smile. "It's just a bad wrench and sprain. You'll be lame and sore for maybe two weeks, but eventually you'll be able to go back, risking your neck again."
"Oh, there's not such an awful lot of risks," Joe said. "This was just an accident—my first of any account. I can't understand how my hands slipped off the bar. Guess I didn't put enough resin on them. How long will I be here?"
"Oh, perhaps a week—maybe less."
"Did they bring my pocketbook—I mean my money?"
"You don't have to worry about that," said the doctor. "It has all been attended to. A Miss Morton made all the arrangements."
"Oh," was all Joe said, but he did a lot of thinking.
Joe's injury was more painful than serious. His sore muscles had to be treated with liniment and electricity, and often massaged. This took time, but in less than a week he was able to be out of bed and could sit in an easy chair, out on one of the verandas.