There was a moment of silence. Then Chick answered confusedly: “Nothing much, sir. I--well, I was in Mooney’s and there was a fellow in there got to swinging his cue around and--” “And you got in the way of it, eh? Hard luck. Better come inside and let me look at it, I think.” “Oh, thanks, sir, but it’s quite all right! I’m going to put some arnica on it when I get to the room. It--it isn’t anything, really!” “Probably not, but it seems to be still bleeding, and if I were you I wouldn’t go up to the hall that way.” The gate swung inward, Mr. Cade stood aside, and, after a moment of hesitation, Chick entered, followed by Bert. The coach occupied two big rooms on the lower floor of the old house. There was a living-room with a comfortably faded carpet on the floor and furniture of the black walnut age. On a big, round table, littered with magazines and books and a dozen other objects, was a wide-shaded electric lamp in whose radius of mellow light stood a huge arm-chair, not of the walnut period. Beyond was a sleeping room, furnished with Spartan simplicity, while nearby, across a narrow rear hall, was a bathroom. To the latter Mr. Cade led the way. “Now let’s have a look at it,” he said. Chick seated himself on a white stool under the beams of the light and the coach unwrapped the bandage. “Hm, you did get a nasty swat, didn’t you? That chap swung a mean cue! If it wasn’t so late I’d advise you to get Jake in to dress that and put a couple of stitches in it, but he’s probably fast asleep. What time is it, Hollins?” “Twelve minutes past, sir,” replied Bert uneasily. “Past--” “Ten.” “Later than I thought. Well, I guess I can strap that down with some plaster, Burton. I’ll give it a good washing first.” He swung open the door of a cabinet, selected a bottle from a shelf, ran some water in the bowl and went to work with absorbent cotton. “This may hurt a bit at first,” he warned. “All right,” said Chick stoically. “It’s been hurting right along, sir.” “There’ll be some swelling here in the morning, and some one may be curious. Possibly you had better say that you were calling on me this evening. No need to go into details, you know.” “Folks might think you gave it to him, sir,” observed Bert in a weak attempt at humor. “I guess not. I’ve felt rather murderous toward this chap at times this fall, Hollins, but until to-night I’ve managed to keep my hands off him.” The coach smiled as he spoke, but neither boy missed his meaning. “There you are, Burton. I’m not going to put a bandage on it. It may start to bleed again, but I don’t think it will. If it does, just sop it off with some cotton and try not to disturb the dressing.” “Thank you, sir.” Chick arose and looked at himself in the glass. “Gee, I’m a sight! Look like a pirate or something, don’t I?” “Well, you look as if you’d come off second-best,” chuckled the coach. He led the way back to the living room. “How does it feel now?” he asked. “Better, sir, thank you.” “Head ache?”