He was still cheerful the next morning. He had sent out for a walking stick, and sending for George, the colored bell-hop and general factotum, gravely presented the crutches to him. Kay protested, but he only grinned at her.
"Why, say," he drawled, "if I went down the street on crutches the boys would shoot me, out of pity!"
She watched him starting out with anxiety and apprehension, so gay a figure was he, so carefully dressed, so helpless. But she did not show it.
He had made an elaborate toilet for the occasion, wearing the best of his show outfit, and grinning as he put it on.
"Got to hit them in the eye the first thing," he told her. "If they've got any idea that I'm down and out, they can take an eyeful and forget it. In a couple of weeks I'll be riding a horse with the best of them."
"But you can't mount, can you?"
"Shucks!" he said, "until this old leg loosens up, if I can't find an Indian pony that can be mounted from the off side, I can get one and learn it in a week."
"Teach it, you mean, don't you?"
"You're having a great time making me over, aren't you?" he said, but without rancor. "'Please don't use a toothpick where folks can see you.' 'You don't need to fold your napkin; they won't use it again anyhow.' Now it's the way I talk! If I've got to think about the way I say things I'll have to stop talking."
He kissed her and went out. And, whatever was to come, that first morning of Tom's in his own land, among his own people, was one of almost complete happiness. Some instinct kept him away from Doctor Dunham at first. Instead, he found himself making a more or less triumphal procession through the town. His cane clicked half a dozen feet and stopped. Men emerged from stores and offices to greet him, or halted cars and called to him. Half a dozen small boys followed him at a respectful distance, and an old Indian woman, frankly curious, added herself to his train.
He glowed and expanded.
"Hey, you fellows! Come on out. Here's Tom McNair."
And they came out, leaving their small businesses, their
