He stepped harder on the accelerator.
Alf Dugan came to his senses in the hospital ward of the Paterson
jail. He had not the faintest idea how he chanced to be there.
When they told him the car had turned turtle and that he and a
broken-necked pig had been hauled out of the wreckage, he asked
in all honesty:
"What car? What pig? Quit stringing me, can't you? Which of my
legs did you say is bust, and which one is just twisted? They
both feel as bad as each other. How'd I get here, anyhow? What
happened me?"
When the vet had worked over Lad for an hour and had patched him
up and had declared there was no doubt at all about his getting
well, Wolf and Bruce were brought in to see the invalid. The
Mistress thought he might be glad to see them.
He was not.
Indeed, after one scornful look in their direction, Laddie turned
away from the visitors, in cold disgust. Also, he was less
demonstrative with the Mistress, than usual. Anyone could see his
feelings were deeply hurt. And anyone who knew Lad could tell
why.
He had borne the brunt of the fight.
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