CHAPTER IX.
The Old Life--and the New.
Now that I was there, I was no good to anybody.

The nurse wouldn't let me put my nose inside dad's door for a week, and I hadn't the heart to go out much while he was so sick.

Rankin was about all the recreation I had, and he palled after the first day or two.

I told him things about Montana that made him look painful because he hardly liked to call me a liar to my face; and the funny part was that I was telling him the truth.
Then dad got well enough so the nurse had no excuse for keeping me out, and I spent a lot of time sitting beside his bed and answering questions.
By the time he was sitting up, peevish at the restraint of weakness and doctor's orders, we began to get really acquainted and to be able to talk together without a burdensome realization that we were father and son--and a mighty poor excuse for the son.

Dad wasn't such bad company, I discovered.