"Would you like to
throw 'em all out of the window?"
"I certainly would."
"All right--that'll be good business." He swung Allison's bed around so
that his right arm rested easily on the window sill, requested the nurse
to wheel the drug store within easy reach, and rapidly uncorked bottle
after bottle with his own hands.
"Now then, get busy."
He sat by, smiling, while Allison poured the varying contents of the
drug store on the ground below and listened for the sound of breaking
glass when the bottle swiftly followed the last gurgling drop. When all
had been disposed of, the nurse took out the table, and the young man
smiled expansively at Allison.
"Feel better?"
"I--think so."
"Good. Now, look here. How much does your hand mean to you?"
"How much does it mean?" repeated Allison, pitifully. "It means life,
career--everything."
"Enough to make a fight for it then, I take it."
Dull colour surged by waves into Allison's white face. "What do you
mean?" he asked, in a broken voice. "Tell me what you mean!"
But the young man was removing his coat. "Hot day," he was saying, "and
the young lady won't mind my negligee as long as the braces don't show.
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