Neil, however, believed he could discern a gradual lessening of Paul's regard for Cowan, and was encouraged.

He had grown to look upon his injury and the idleness it enforced with some degree of cheerfulness since it had brought about reconciliation between him and his roommate, and, as he believed, rescued the latter to some extent from the influence of Cowan.
"Doc says the shoulder is 'doing nicely,' whatever that may mean," Neil was saying, "and that I will likely be able to get back to light work next week." The announcement didn't sound very joyful, for it was now only the evening of the fourth day since the accident, and "next week" seemed a long way off to him.
"It was hard luck, old man," said South.
"Your sympathy's very dear to me," answered Neil, "but it would seem more genuine if you'd stop grinning from ear to ear." "Can't," replied South.

"It's the plaster." "He's been looking like the Cheshire cat for two days," said Livingston.
"You see, when they patched him up they asked if he was suffering much agony, and he grinned that way just to show that he was a hero, and before he could get his face straight they had the plaster on.

He gets credit for being much better natured than he really is." "Credit!" said South.

"I get worse than that.