The intern was stepping forward to help the surgeon. It ran through Jimmie’s mind that the intern was a shrewd-looking duck, with wide, apperceptive eyes, the pointed nose of the curious, and an air about him of knowledgableness. Jimmie also thought that he’d been standing there, watching everything, all that time. As the intern began a swift, technical explanation of his findings, he winked at Jimmie….
Supper began mordantly. For one thing, Mrs. Bailey was weeping steadily. For another, the food was overcooked-caked and dry. Mrs. Bailey kept apologizing for her tears.
“He’ll be all right,” Sarah said. “He’s tough. Tough as Jimmie—almost.” Her blue gaze met Jimmie’s violently—and he wondered why.
“We must eat,” Mr. Bailey said earnestly. “We’ll need our strength.”
Jimmie was eating right along. In fact, he found himself hungry. That surprised him. He had been through a lot that day. For a mere Midwestern town, Muskogewan was unreasonably productive of excitement.
“The poor boy!” said Biff’s mother. “The poor, poor boy!”
“Popinjay, that doctor,” said Mr. Bailey. “Wonder if he’s as good as his reputation?”
“Where were you?” Sarah asked bluntly of Jimmie.
“Me? Working.”
“They said you left the factory about five. They said a dame drove you away.”