"Nothin' the matter with you, Bo, but the crack on the conk.'
"Right-o!" agreed Hawksley.
"Lemme see your hands. Humph. Soft. Now stand on that threshold. That's it. Walk t' th' end o' the hall an' back. Step lively."
"But" began Miss Frances in protest. This was cruelty.
"I'm the doctor, miss," interrupted Ryan, crisply. "If he falls down he goes t' bed, an' you stay. If he makes it, he follows my instructions."
When Hawksley returned to the starting line the walls rocked, there were two or three blinding stabs of pain; but he faced this unusual Irishman with never a hint of the torture. A wild longing to be gone from this kindly prison—to get away from the thought of the girl.
"All right," said Ryan. "Now toddle back t' bed."
"Bed?"
"Yep. Goin' t' give you a rub that'll start all your machinery workin'."
Docilely Hawksley obeyed. He wasn't going to let them know, but that bed was going to be tolerably welcome.
"Well!" said Miss Frances. "I don't see how he did it."
"I do," said the ex-pugilist. "I told him to. Either he was a false alarm, or he'd attempt the job
