“Strike me pink if ’e didn’t,” Andy vouchsafed.
“I have patched up Hand’s victim’s many times,” the doctor stated, “but this is the first time that I have attended his victor, and I can assure you that it’s a pleasure.” He removed his coat and rolled up his sleeves. “I’ll look you over,” he added, then glanced significantly at Connie, who rose and left the room.
“A couple of cracked ribs, a fractured ulna, and a few hundred bruises,” was the doctor’s verdict a few minutes later.
The physician’s deft hands soon bandaged the broken ribs and set the bone of the forearm.
“I’ll go and patch up the fallen bully. I hope he’s worse still,” he chuckled as he left the room.
Andy stepped to the door and called in Connie.
“Don’t look so frightened, Connie,” smiled Donald. “I don’t feel half as bad as I look.”
“I’ll have to go now,” she said in a voice choked with emotion.
Andy accompanied her outside the door. “’Ave a bite to eat, Connie?” he invited.
Connie shook her head. Now that the excitement was over, the strain of the emotion she had experienced showed in the dark shadows under her eyes and in the droop of her slight shoulders. “Andy,” she began, as she placed a small hand on his arm, “you—you won’t say anything what—what—I——”
A flood of rose dyed her tanned cheeks and her blue eyes fell in embarrassment. Andy patted her shoulder reassuringly.
“I’ll never s’y a blinkin’ word, Connie; an oyster’s got nothin’ on me.”
Connie, visibly relieved, picked up her gun and started up the hill. Andy watched the pathetic little figure until she disappeared in the woods. For a moment he stood staring into nothingness, then, shaking his head sadly, he entered the cabin.
“She’s a little brick, Andy,” Donald spoke weakly from his bed.
Andy glared at him. “Brick!” he repeated sarcastically. “Is that all? You big, bone-’eaded, blinkin’ boob!” He slammed the door as he went out to give emphasis to the remark.
“What the devil does he mean?” puzzled Donald. He turned painfully to his side, yawned equally as painfully, then fell into a sound sleep.
On the third day of Donald’s convalescence he was able to leave his cabin. With his arm in a sling, his face patched with plaster, he made the rounds of the mill.