Judge and Mrs. Dillon were abroad.
When I had telephoned to the hospital the next morning, I went to the
office and found a message on my desk. It read:
"Have everything possible done. Send all bills to me. He must come
here to convalesce."
It was headed Morrisville, and was signed, "W. D. Van Voast."
That same day Blister was taken to a big, airy, private room with two
nurses in attendance.
For a time it seemed hopeless. And then the fates decided to spare
that valiant whimsical spirit and Death drew slowly back. The stallion
had been unshod, and to this and the semi-darkness Blister owed his
life.
I had met the girl frequently at the hospital and at last they told us
we could see Blister for a moment the next day. Ten o'clock was the
time set and as we sat in the visitor's room together, waiting, she
seemed worried.
"You should be more cheerful," I said. "The danger is past, or we
would not be allowed to see him."
"It isn't that," she replied. "I used to like horses. Now every horse
I see scares me to death." Then she hesitated and looked at me timidly.
"Well," I encouraged, "that's natural, what of it?"
"I've been thinking--" she said slowly, "every girl should like what
her husb--" she stopped and blushed till she looked like a rose in
confusion.
"Oh, I see what you mean," I said in a matter-of-fact tone. "Since you
care for Blister, you feel that you should also be interested in his
profession.
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