"Jimmie's?"
"Yes. I have been taking care of it for him. His fingers were not bruised much, though. It's odd, isn't it, that both of you were hurt in exactly the same place—by accident?"
I murmured that it was strange.
"So I had a little talk with him," she went on quietly.
"Yes?"
"And he told me all about it. Oh, Jack, I didn't think even Boris would do a thing like that!" She looked up at me with bright, misty eyes. "I asked Gallagher and Neidlinger about it. They both told me how brave you were."
"I'm grateful for their certificate of valor," I answered lightly.
Before I knew what she was at my sweetheart had stooped to kiss the bruises above my knuckles. I snatched my hand away.
"Don't do that," I said gruffly. "It isn't exactly—you know—right."
"Why not?" She looked at me with head flung back in characteristic fashion. "Why not? They suffered for us, the poor, bruised fingers. Why shouldn't I honor them with my poor best?"