do in their accidents. A hundred
or two will look bigger to him right now than a thousand next year. I'll
get him before any shyster lawyer does. I'll fix it up, all right. Don't
you worry, sis. That crazy anarchist won't trouble you ..."

But Judith was not worrying. Her eyes had closed again in a perfectly
obvious simulation of sleep. For a moment Roger looked a little hurt by
this indifferent reception of his idea. Then he tiptoed quietly out of
the room.

Full of his plan, he hastened to the grey room, where the tall stranger
lay, all his cheerful smile lost in the twisted grin of pain.

But he managed somehow to smile, after a fashion at least, when Roger
came in.

"Hello," he said, with something of his characteristic buoyancy.

"Hello," said Roger, trying to be casual. "How you feeling?"

"Ever see a hog skinned?" grinned the tall man. "That's how."

Roger's sympathies were stirred. He was really a very tender-hearted
lad. But he was not to be swerved from his purpose. He had a duty to
perform.

"Bad business," he said seriously, seating himself beside the bed. Then
he nodded to the maid, who had been detailed to act as nurse, to leave
the room. When she had closed the door, he turned confidentially to
Good.

"I say, old man," he said with something of embarrassment in his manner,
"you're going to be laid up for a good stretch, you know, and you may
lose your job and all that--"

"Tweedledee," said the tall man. "You can't lose what you haven't got."

Roger was at a loss just how to answer that sally, so he decided to
overlook it.

"You're bound to be considerably put out," he went on.

"Considerably is right," chuckled Good.

Roger found it very difficult, much more so than he had expected, to
talk to this curious creature. But he was persistent.

"Well, we don't intend that you shall lose anything," he said in as
friendly a way as he could. But it was a little too friendly. It was the
tone with which one offers a tip. "I'll give you a cheque for two
hundred dollars--all the doctor's bills paid--and--" He drew a cheque
book from his pocket and unscrewed his fountain pen. "How shall I make
it out?"

Good raised his hand. "Cut that," he said shortly.

Roger misconstrued the gesture. It irritated him.

"Don't you think it's--enough?" he asked bluntly.

But the tall man only smiled.

"Oh, forget it," he said. "Why should you give me any money. You can pay
the bills if you want to. Guess yo