"Due partly to me, but mostly to Ricky. She--ah--created the necessary
diversion. I had sort of lost interest at the time. I know so little
about gouging and biting in clinches."
"Dirty fighters?"
"Well, soiled anyway. But if the Boss isn't nursing a cracked wrist, it
isn't my fault. I don't know what Jeems did to Red, but he, too,
departed in a damaged condition. Do you have to do that?" Val demanded
testily, squirming as Rupert ran his hands lightly over the boy's
shoulders and down his ribs, touching every bruise to tingling life.
"Just seeing the extent of the damage," he explained.
"You don't have to see, I can feel!" Val snapped pettishly.
Rupert got to his feet. "Come on."
"Where?"
"Oh, a hot bath and then bed. You'll be taking an interest in life again
about this time tomorrow. I think LeFrode had better see you too."
"No," Val objected. "I'm not a child."
Rupert grinned. "If you'd rather I carried you--"
There was no opposing Rupert when he was in that mood, as his brother
well knew. Val got up slowly.
The program that Rupert had outlined was faithfully carried out. Half an
hour later Val found himself between sheets, blinking at the ceiling
drowsily. When two cracks overhead wavered together of their own accord,
his eyes closed.
"--still sleeping?" whispered someone at his side much later.
"Yes, best thing for him."
"Was he badly hurt?"
"No, just banged around more than was good for him.
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