The Old Map knocked the ashes out of his pipe and went in to look at him. “Did Weary say I got bucked off?” demanded the sick man before the Old Man was fairly in the room. “If he did, he lied, that's all. I didn't think Weary'd do me dirt like that--I thought he'd stand by me if anybody would. He knows I wasn't throwed. I--” “Here, young fellow,” put in the Old Man, calmly, “don't yuh git t' rampagin' around over nothin'! You turn over there an' go t' sleep.” “I'll be hanged if I will!” retorted Chip. “If Weary's taken to lying about me I'll have it out with him if I break all the rest of my bones doing it. Do you think I'm going to stand a thing like that? I'll see--” “Easy there, doggone it. I never heard Weary say't yuh got bucked off. Whizzer turned over on his head, 's near as I c'd make out fer dust. I took it he turned a summerset.” Chip's befogged brain caught at the last word. “Yes, that's just what he did. It beats me how Weary could say, or even think, that I--it was the jack rabbit first--and I told her the supply was limited--and if we do furnish lots of amusement--but I guess I made her understand I wasn't so easy as she took me to be. She--” “Hey?” The Old Man could hardly be blamed for losing the drift of Chip's rapid utterances. “If we want to get them rounded up before the dance, I'll--it's a good thing it wasn't poison, for seven dead kids at once--” The Old Man knew something about sickness himself. He hurried out, returning in a moment with a bowl of cool water and a fringed napkin which he pilfered from the dining-room table, wisely intending to bathe Chip's head. But Chip would have none of him or his wise intentions. He jerked the wet napkin from the Old Man's fingers and threw it down behind the bed, knocked up the bowl of water into the Old Man's face and called him some very bad names. The Countess came and looked in, and Chip hurled a pillow at her and called her a bad name also, so that she retreated to the kitchen with her feelings very much hurt. After that Chip had the south room to himself until the Little Doctor returned with Johnny. The Old Man, looking rather scared, met her on the porch. The Little Doctor read his face before she was off her horse. “What's the matter? Is he worse?” she demanded, abruptly. “That's fer you t' find out. I ain't no doctor. He got on the fight, a while back, an' took t' throwin' things an' usin' langwidge. He can't git out uh bed, thank the Lord, or we'd be takin' t' the hills by now.” “Then somebody has it to answer for. He was all right when I left him, two hours ago, with not a sign of fever. Has the Countess been pestering him?” “No,” said the Countess, popping her head out of the kitchen window and speaking in an aggrieved tone, “I hope I never pester anybody. I went an' done all I could t' cheer 'im up, an' that's all the thanks I git fer it. I must say some folks ain't overburdened with gratitude, anyhow.”