"How Is He, Doctor?"
"Hello, boys. Mr. Damon will be as good as new in a week or so. Barring a sprained wrist his injuries are trifling—a few bruises and a slight cut. From the way he's blessing everything in the place no one would think he was hurt in the least!"
"I'm relieved," said Tom. "May we see him?"
"Go right in. He'll be glad to have some company. But don't stay too long."
"Bless my operating table, if it isn't Tom and Ned!" exclaimed Mr. Damon, seeing his visitors enter. The eccentric gentleman was propped up in bed by several pillows. His left arm was in a sling and around his head was a big bandage. "You two got here almost as quickly as I did. But I'm glad they didn't have to carry you in!"
Mr. Damon Was Propped up in Bed
"Your wife phoned me the news," explained Tom. "We're mighty glad you weren't injured badly. Tell us how it happened."
"It all occurred so suddenly that I hardly know myself. But I know one thing!" Mr. Damon seemed very indignant. "The scoundrels deliberately ran into my car!"
