That's all." Then, in a livelier tone, he said: "Ole Gurney took the bandages off my hand this morning.

All healed up.

Says I don't need 'em any more." "Why, that's splendid, papa!" she cried, beaming.

"I was afraid--Let's see." She came toward him, but he rose, still keeping his hand in his pocket.
"Wait a minute," he said, smiling.

"Now it may give you just a teeny bit of a shock, but the fact is--well, you remember that Sunday when Sibyl came over here and made all that fuss about nothin'-- it was the day after I got tired o' that statue when Edith's telegram came--" "Let me see your hand!" she cried.
"Now wait!" he said, laughing and pushing her away with his left hand.
"The truth is, mamma, that I kind o' slipped out on you that morning, when you wasn't lookin', and went down to ole Gurney's office--he'd told me to, you see--and, well, it doesn't AMOUNT to anything." And he held out, for her inspection, the mutilated hand.