They kept him two days in the padded room on Dickie’s recommendation, who made Bob out as highly dangerous. “Powerful and vicious,” he described him to the suave individual in charge of the “sanatorium.” That particular apartment was somewhat remote from the other rooms, so that any noises made by the inmate of the former wouldn’t disturb the others. Becoming more reconciled to the inevitable, Bob found the quiet of the padded room rather soothing to his shaken nerves. He didn’t have to talk to hardly a soul. Only an attendant came around once in a while to shove cautiously something edible at him, but the attendant didn’t ask any questions and Bob didn’t have to tell him any truths. It was a joyful relief not to have to tell truths. Bob’s eye was swollen and he had a few bruises, but they didn’t count. He had observed with satisfaction that Dickie’s lip had an abrasion and that one of his front teeth seemed missing. Dickie would have to wait until nature and art had repaired his appearance before he could once more a-wooing go. Bob didn’t want the temperamental young thing himself, but he couldn’t conscientiously wish Dickie success in that quarter, after the unnecessarily rough and unsportsmanlike manner in which Dickie had comported himself against him (Bob). At first, it had occurred to Bob to take the attendant—and through him, the manager of the institution—into his confidence, but for two reasons he changed his mind about doing so. The attendant would probably receive Bob’s confidence as so many illusions; he would smile and say “Yes—quite so!” or “There! there!”—meaning Bob would get over said illusions some day, and that was why he was there. He was being treated for them. Again, if he unbosomed himself fully, as to the fundamental cause of all this trouble and turmoil, he would lose to the commodore, et al., and have to pay that note which he didn’t very well see how he could pay. Bob gritted his teeth. Would it not be better to win now to spite them and in spite of everything? About the worst that could happen, had happened. Why not accept, then, this enforced sojourn philosophically and when the time came, he would walk up to the captain’s (or commodore’s) office and demand a little pay-envelope as his hard-earned wage? There would be a slight balm in that pay-envelope. With the contents thereof, he could relieve some of dad’s necessities which soon would be pressing. Why not, with a little stretch of the imagination, tell himself he (Bob) was only taking a rest cure? People paid big prices for a fashionable rest cure. They probably charged pretty stiff prices here, but it wouldn’t cost him a cent. His dear friends who put him here would have to pay. He wasn’t a voluntary boarder. They would have to vouch for him and his bills. So Bob made up his mind to have as good a time as he could; in other words, to grin and bear it, as best he might.