"He
nearly talked an arm off of me and Furman Hatch this morning,--and
it certainly seemed to be a real pleasure for him to cuss. I really
think he'll get well quicker if you drop in for a chat with him,
Mr. Blythe."
"It would be very nice," said Alix warmly, "if you could run in
for a few minutes--"
"Sure I will," cried the young man. "This afternoon, Mr. Webster,--about
half-past two?"
"Any time suits me," said the obliging Mr. Webster. As if struck
by something irresistibly funny, he suddenly put his hand to his
mouth and got very red in the face. After an illy-suppressed snort
or two, he coughed violently, and then stammered: "Excuse me. I was
just thinking about--er--about something funny. I'm always doing
some fool thing like that. This was about Ed Jones's dog,--wouldn't
be the least bit funny to anybody but me, so I won't tell you about
it. Two-thirty it is, then? I'll meet you up at Alix's. It's only
a step."
"Will you tell Mr. Thane that you are bringing Mr. Blythe to see him
this afternoon, Charlie?" said Alix. "You said he was threatening
to disobey the doctor's--"
"You leave it to me, Alix," broke in Charlie reassuringly. "Trust
me to see that he don't escape."
A little before two-thirty, tall Mr. Blythe, one time Captain in
the Field Artillery, and short Mr. Webster wended their way through
the once busy stableyard in the rear of Dowd's Tavern.
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