"Six thousand!" said Vickers, with immense appreciation.

"The court set it aside for being excessive," said Parthenheimer," and
aft'werds they compromised for less. But there it was. And the way it
was done was odd, too. Right arm and left leg."

"Ah," said Vickers, "living right on a railroad, the way I do, you see
some queerer accidents than that. Now, I remember--"

But Mrs. Tarbell found this conversation growing quite too ghastly to be
listened to with composure, so she turned abruptly toward the sofa. The
doctor was now bathing and examining Mrs. Stiles's ankle, and Mrs.
Stiles looked not merely the picture but the dramatic materialization of
misery.

"How do you feel now, Mrs. Stiles? How do you think she is, doctor?"
These two questions were put in Mrs. Tarbell's sweetest tones.

Mrs. Stiles lay for a moment without answering, but the doctor replied
that he was afraid it was a nasty business. "There is a dislocation, and
there may be nothing more, except a sprain," he said. "But it will be
impossible to tell until the swelling is reduced; and if there is a
fracture of the fibula, why, such a complication is apt to be serious."

Mrs. Stiles groaned feebly, and then looked up at Mrs. Tarbell with
gratitude. "I never thought to be so much trouble to you," she murmured.

"Do not think of that for a moment," said Mrs. Tarbell. "If I only had
my cologne-bottle," she said, half aloud, in an apologetic voice. This