I finally had to
go to a hospital. Not one of the old gang ever came to see me. Old Gun
was a dandy, when he was making--and spending--a couple hundred a month;
the rest of the time he was supposed to be dead.
"I might have died in the hospital, if fate hadn't decreed to send me
relief. It suddenly dawned upon me that I was getting far better
treatment than usual, had a special nurse, the best of food, flowers,
etc., all labeled 'From the Boys.'"
"I found out, after I was well enough to take a sun bath on the porch,
that a woman had sent all my luxuries, and that her purse had been
opened for my relief. I knew who it was at once, and was anxious to get
well and at work, so as not to live on one who was only too glad to do
everything for me.
"A six months' wrastle with the twisters leaves a fellow stiff-jointed
and oldish, and lying in bed takes the strength out of him. I took the
notion to get out and go to work, one day, and walked down to the
shops--I was carried back, chuck full of 'em again.
"The doctor said I must go to Ojo Caliente, away down south, if I was to
get well.
Pages:
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152