He didn't need it, now; he would lie on wire springs, instead of on the
crisp, prairie grass. He would be waited on like a yearling baby and--

"The Countess just knows you will choose Bill," interrupted a whimsical
girl voice.

Chip said something which the Little Doctor did not try to hear
distinctly. "Don't she think I've had enough misery dealt me for
once?" he asked, without taking his eyes from the poor, broken vine.
He rather pitied the vine--it seemed to have been badly used by fate,
just as he had been. He was sure it had not wanted to stop right
there on that line, as it had been forced to do. HE had not wanted
to stop, either. He--

"She says Bill would just love to come," said the voice, with a bit of
a laugh in it.

Chip, turning his head back suddenly, looked into the gray eyes and felt
inexplicably cheered. He almost believed she understood something of
what it all meant to him. And she mercifully refrained from spoken pity,
which he felt he could not have borne just then. His lips took back some
of their curve.

"You tell her I wouldn't just love to have him," he said, grimly.

"I'd never dare. She dotes on Bill. Whom DO you want?"

"When it comes to that, I don't want anybody. But if you could get
Johnny Beckman to come--"