"What's in the ice-box?" asked the other anxiously.
"Oh!" cried the girl in distress. "He's starving! When did you eat
last?"
"I can't exactly remember. It was about five this morning, I
think. A banana, and, as I recall it, a small one."
"Dad!" cried the girl, but that prompt and efficient gentleman was
already halfway to the cook, dragging Sherwen along as
interpreter.
"He'll get whatever there is in the shortest known time," the girl
assured her patient. "Trust dad. Now, you lie back and let me fix
up a fresh bandage."
"You'd have made a great trained nurse," he murmured, as she
adjusted the clean strips that Sherwen had sent in. "Don't pin my
ear down. It's got to help hold my goggles on."
"The dear funny goggles!" Picking them up, she patted them with
dainty fingers, before setting them aside. He watched her
uneasily, much in the manner of a dog whose bone has been taken
away.
"Do you mind giving them back?" he said.
"But you're not going to wear them here," she protested.
"I've got so used to them," he explained apologetically, "that I
don't feel really dressed without them.
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