“Better not talk,” said Miss Frink. “We’re nearly there.”

Dr. Morton was waiting for them. Adèle Lumbard had told him that Aunt Susanna had a young Greek god in captivity, but that he needed some restoring.

It proved that the cut in Hugh’s head required a few stitches, and that his left arm was broken. Miss Frink still insisting that her home should be Hugh’s only hospital, he found himself finally installed in a handsome, spacious room with a competent and peremptory nurse.

On Miss Frink’s first visit to his bedside, where he lay with but one of the blue eyes peering out from his bandages, and his swathed arm resting on a pillow, he protested.

“Miss Frink, it’s all absurd,” he said. “I don’t need a nurse any more than a toad needs a tail. I can take care of myself perfectly. I have my right hand. If you’ll just send up some chow once in a while—”

“Chow,” interrupted Miss Frink thoughtfully. “You were in the war, of course.”

“Of course,” said Hugh, smiling at her tone,[34] but with teeth set owing to an assortment of twinges.

[34]

“You must have been wonderful!”

“Oh, I was. Ask Pershing. Say, Miss Frink, I don’t like to be all this unnecessary expense to you.”

Miss Frink continued to look down at him reflectively. As John Ogden had said, she liked prosperous folk and had little patience with derelicts. Had she seen Hugh a few days ago shuffling along on his way to his job, unshaven, shabby, and careless, she certainly would not have looked at him twice, or if she had done so would have dilated disgusted nostrils at the odor of his cigarette; but John Ogden had sent his protégé forth from the hands of a good tailor and barber; and, had he known the disaster which befell that fine new suit, would have rubbed his hands in triumph.

“Don’t fret about expense,” said Miss Frink. “If it were not for you, I shouldn’t sign any more checks; and, speaking of checks, where is yours for your trunk? We must send for it.”

“It’s there in my pocketbook with my letter of introduction.”

Miss Frink, taking this as permission, found the pocketbook. She looked at the marking thereon. “Hugh Stanwood,” she read aloud.[35] “That is odd,” she said. “Stanwood is one of our family names.” She 

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