For years he had
hated Dunk Whittaker--
The Happy Family, with rare good sense, had not hesitated to turn
the white house into an impromptu hospital. They knew that if the
Little Doctor and Chip and the Old Man had been at home Happy
Jack would have been taken unquestioningly into the guest
chamber--which was a square, three-windowed room off the big
livingroom. More than one of them had occupied it upon occasion.
They took Happy Jack up there and put him to bed quite as a
matter-of-course, and when he was asleep they lingered upon the
wide, front porch; the hammock of the Little Doctor squeaked
under the weight of Andy Green, and the wide-armed chairs
received the weary forms of divers young cowpunchers who did not
give a thought to the intrusion, but were thankful for the
comfort. Andy was swinging luxuriously and drawing the last few
puffs from a cigarette when Slim, purple and puffing audibly,
appeared portentously before him.
"I thought you said you was goin' to lock Dunk up in the
blacksmith shop," he launched accusingly at Andy.
"We did," averred that young man, pushing his toe against the
railing to accelerate the voluptuous motion of the hammock.
"He ain't there. He's broke loose. The chain--by golly, yuh went
an' used that chain that was broke an' jest barely hangin'
together! His horse ain't anywheres around, either.
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