Then one day, when the bandage had dwindled to a small patch held in place by strips of adhesive plaster, Johnny broke into her detailed description of a silly Western picture she had seen.

“What’s become of Bland?” he asked, just when she was describing a thrilling scene.

“Bland?  Oh, why—­Bland’s gone.”  Mary V was very innocent as to eyes and voice, and very uneasy as to her mind.

“Gone where?  He was broke.  I didn’t get a chance to pay him—­”

“Oh, well, as to that—­I suppose dad fixed him up with a ticket and so on.  And so this girl, Inez, overhears them plotting—­”

“Where’s your dad?”

“Dad?  Why, dad’s in Tucson, I believe, at the trial.  What makes you so rude when I’m telling you the most thrill—­”

“When’s he coming back?”

“For gracious sake, Johnny!  What do you want of dad all at once?  Am I not entertaining—­”

“You are.  As entertaining as a meadow lark.  I love meadow larks, but I never could put in all my time listening to ’em sing.  I generally had something else I had to do.”

“Well, you’ve nothing else to do now, so listen to this meadow lark, will you?  Though I must say—­”

“I’d like to, but I can’t.  There are things I’ve got to do.”

“There are not!  Not a single thing but be a nice boy and get well.  And to get well you must—­”

“A lot you know about it—­you, with nothing to worry you, any more than a meadow lark.  Not as much, because they do have to rustle their own worms and watch out for hawks and things, and you—­”

“I suppose you would imply that I have about as much brains as a meadow lark, perhaps!” Mary V rose valiantly to the argument.  If Johnny would rather quarrel than talk about things that didn’t interest either of them a bit, why, a quarrel he should have.

But Johnny would not quarrel.  He made no reply whatever to the tentative charge.  When Mary V stopped scolding, she became aware that Johnny had not heard a word of what she had said.

“How many horses did your dad figure had been stolen?  I mean, besides the ones he got back.”

“Why—­er—­you’ll have to ask dad.  I don’t see what that can have to do with meadow larks’ brains.”

“It hasn’t a thing to do with brains.  I was merely wondering.”

“Well,” Mary V retorted flippantly, “I believe the wondering is very good to-day.  Help yourself, Johnny.”

Johnny looked at her unsmilingly.  “That,” he told her bitterly, “is what I’m trying to do.”

He did not explain that somewhat cryptical remark, and presently he left her and went to his room.  Mary V felt that she was not being trusted by a person who surely ought to know by this time that he needn’t be so secretive about his thoughts and intentions.  If she had not proved her loyalty and her friendship by this time, what did a person want her to do, for gracious sake?