Doris laughed as she explained the fountain pen to him. Then she
listened while he told her what to say.
The letter written, Doris went to her room. Pete lay thinking of her
pleasant gray eyes and the way that she smiled understandingly and
nodded--"When most folks," he soliloquized, "would say something or ask
you what you was drivin' at."
To him she was an altogether wonderful person, so quietly cheerful,
natural, and unobtrusively competent . . . Then, through some queer
trick of memory, Boca's face was visioned to him and his thoughts were
of the desert, of men and horses and a far sky-line. "I got to get out
of here," he told himself sleepily. And he wondered if he would ever
see Doris Gray again after he left the hospital.
CHAPTER XXXIX
A PUZZLE GAME
Dr. Andover, brisk and professionally cheerful, was telling Pete that
so far as he was concerned he could not do anything more for him,
except to advise him to be careful about lifting or straining--to take
it easy for at least a month--and to do no hard riding until the
incision was thoroughly healed.
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