His
wife followed him out, and, upon seeing Dick's hand, was all
solicitude. Then Dick heard light, quick footsteps, but he did
not look up.
"Nell, this is Mr. Gale--Dick Gale, who came with the boys last
last night," said Belding. "He's got an awful hand. Got it punching
that greaser Rojas. I want you to dress it....Gale, this is my
step-daughter, Nell Burton, of whom I spoke. She's some good
when there's somebody sick or hurt. Shove out your fist, my boy,
and let her get at it. Supper's nearly ready."
Dick felt that same strange, quickening heart throb, yet he had
never been cooler in his life. More than anything else in the
world he wanted to look at Nell Burton; however, divining that
the situation might be embarrassing to her, he refrained from
looking up. She began to bathe his injured knuckles. He noted
the softness, the deftness of her touch, and then it seemed her
fingers were not quite as steady as they might have been. Still,
in a moment they appeared to become surer in their work. She
had beautiful hands, not too large, though certainly not small,
and they were strong, brown, supple. He observed next, with
stealthy, upward-stealing glance, that she had rolled up her sleeves,
exposing fine, round arms graceful in line. Her skin was brown--no,
it was more gold than brown. It had a wonderful clear tint. Dick
stoically lowered his eyes then, putting off as long as possible
the alluring moment when he was to look into her face.
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