CHAPTER XI.
Good Intentions.



"Mr. Davidson, have you nerve enough to help me replace this ankle?
The Countess is too nervous, and J. G. is too awkward."

Chip was lying oblivious to his surroundings or his hurt in the sunny,
south room which Dunk Whitaker chose to call his.

"I've never been accused of wanting nerve," grinned Weary. "I guess I
can stand it if you can." And a very efficient assistant he proved
himself to be.

When the question of a nurse arose, when all had been done that could be
done and Weary had gone, the Little Doctor found herself involved in an
argument with the Countess. The Countess wanted them to send for Bill.
Bill just thought the world and all of Chip, she declared, and would
just love to come. She was positive that Bill was the very one they
needed, and the Little Doctor, who had conceived a violent dislike for
Bill, a smirky, self-satisfied youth addicted to chewing tobacco, red
neckties and a perennial grin, was equally positive he was the very
one they did not want. In despair she retrenched herself behind the
assertion that Chip should choose for himself.

"I just know he'll choose Bill," crowed the Countess after the flicker
of the doctor's skirts.

Chip turned his head rebelliously upon the pillow and looked up at her.