THE RUNAWAY
BY ALLEN FRENCH
Author of “The Junior Cup,” “Pelham and His Friend Tim,” etc.
CHAPTER V
THE PROBLEM
The man was tall and lean, bronzed and active. Keen eyes smiled down at the lad, and a hard but not ungentle hand was laid upon the fore- head. “H-m!” said the man. “Better, ain’t ye?”
“I think so.” To himself, the boy’s voice sounded as if it came from another room.
“Well,” said his nurse, “I ’ve been expecting your arrival any time to-day. The broth is warm —I ’ll bring ye some.”
Presently, the boy found himself accepting spoonfuls of an appetizing liquid, which slipped down easily. “More,” he said, when the supply ceased.
The man shook his head. “Enough ’s enough. Now, are ye comfortable?”
The boy struggled with his ideas. “I ’ve been—sick?”
“Rather.”
“There ’s a bandage on my head?”
“We ’'ll have that off to-morrow.”
“What ’s wrong with my hand?”
“Another bandage.”
“Something happened to me?”
“Look here,” said his nurse, “the doctor said you 're not to talk. Jes’ lie still, won't you?”’
“But I don’t remember—"
“Don’t try.”
The boy nodded and said no more, but lay still. Drowsiness came, and he willingly yielded to it.
For another day continued periods of sleeping and waking. He was visited, fed, and grew stronger. But he asked no more questions about himself. Still another day went by, and even when the doctor came and examined his wrist, the lad asked no questions about it. On the third day, in the middle of the morning, he waked from a doze to see two persons by his bed looking down at him. One was his nurse, Nate, but the second was a stranger.
Nate bent over the bed. “Here s Mr. Dodd, come to see you.”
Mr. Dodd, stocky and grizzled, and quite as keen of gaze as Nate, sat down beside the bed. “How do you do this morning, Wilson?” he asked.
The boy was plainly surprised. “Wilson?” He looked at Nate. “Is that—?” He was struggling with ideas.
“Is n’t that your name?” asked Nate.
The boy doubtfully shook his head, and looked appealingly at Mr. Dodd. “My name—” He hesitated. “I—"
He was painfully groping in thought, when the doctor, who had just entered, interposed. “Don’t worry him,” he said briskly. “My boy, we waked you from a nap. You ’d better finish it.” He turned away from the bedside, and the others followed him into the next room. There for a moment their voices murmured faintly; but when the three became interested, and forgot caution, the sounds floated clearly to him.
“Then you ’d rather, Doctor, that we did n't ask him about himself?”
“I ’d rather,” replied the doctor, “that he was n’t urged to try to remember. A question, carelessly put, might perhaps be asked once in a while. If he has lost his memory, from the blow on his head, or fever, or both, it is probably only temporarily. Since the first day, he has n’t asked about himself, and does n’t seem to think of how he came here. Let him alone. He ’ll come to himself gradually.”
“The name Wilson did n't seem to suggest anything to him.”
“If his memory ’s lost, it would n’t, even if it were his name. But you must consider that this may not be the boy that got off the train. It ’s ten days ago, and the man Wilson has n’t been heard from. He ’s found his brother, I ’m convinced.”
“Yet somebody must be worrying about this lad.”
“True,” admitted the doctor. “But equally true that no boy is reported missing. Since no one is inquiring about him, what can we do but wait? Would you advertise?”
“‘Found, a boy!’” laughed Mr. Dodd. “No, they know all about the lad over at Farnham and Winton, and can tell about him to any one that inquires. On the other hand, if the newspapers246
