“Doing well isn’t exactly the phrase even now,” admitted Red Pepper.  “There are lots of things that can happen yet.  But the wind and waves have floated her little craft off the rocks, and the leaks in the boat are stopped.  If she doesn’t spring any more, and the winds continue favourable, we’ll make port.”

Jordan King looked as happy as if he had been the brother of this patient of Burns’s, whom neither of them had known a month ago, and whom one of them had seen but once.

“That’s great,” he said.  “I haven’t dared to ask since I came here myself, knowing how poor the prospects were the last time I did ask.  I was afraid I should surely hear bad news.  When can we begin to send her flowers again?  Couldn’t I send some of mine?  I’d like her to have Susquehanna there, and Rappahannock—­and I think Arapahoe and Apache will run them pretty close on lasting.  Would you mind taking them to her when you go?” His eyes turned to Mrs. Burns.

“I’d love to, but I shall not dare to tell her you are here, just yet.  She is very weak, isn’t she, Red?”

“As a starved pussy cat.  The flowers won’t hurt her, but we don’t want to rouse her sympathies as yet.”

“I should say not.  Don’t mention me; just take her the posies,” instructed King, his cheek showing a slight access of colour.

“You won’t know whether Susquehanna wins your wager or not,” Ellen reminded him as she obediently separated the indicated blooms, magnificent great hothouse specimens with stems like pillars.  That the finest of all these roses, not excepting those she had sent herself, had come from private greenhouses, she well knew.  The Kings lived in the centre of the wealthiest quarter of the city, though not themselves possessed of more than moderate riches.  Their name, however, was an old and honoured one, Jordan himself was a favourite, and none in the city was too important to be glad to be admitted at his home.

“Anything more I can do for you before I go?” inquired Burns of his patient when Ellen had gone, smiling back at King from over the big roses and promising to keep track of Susquehanna for him in her daily visits.

“Nothing, thank you.  You did it all an hour ago, and left me more comfortable than I expected to be just yet.  I’m not sure whether it was the dressing or the visit that did me the most good.”

“You’re a mighty satisfactory sort of patient.  That good clean blood of yours is telling already in your recovery from shock.  It tells in another way, too.”

“What’s that?”

“Sheer pluck.”

King’s eyelids fell.  It meant much to him to stand well in the estimation of this man, himself distinguished for the cool daring of his work, his endurance of the hard drudgery of his profession as well as the brilliant performance on occasion.  “I’m glad you think so—­Red Pepper Burns,” King answered daringly.  Then, as the other laughed, he added:  “Do you know what would make me the most docile patient you could ask?”