XIII
OFFSHORE
"You ask me, I think very excellent damn quick cure."
Sum Fat having for the third time since morning anointed with liniment and massaged Whitaker's ankle, tenderly adjusted and laced the makeshift canvas
brace, drew a sock over it, and then with infinite care inserted the foot in a high-
cut canvas tennis shoe.
He stood up, beaming.
Whitaker extended his leg and cast a critical eye over the heavily bandaged ankle.
"Anyway," he observed, "the effect is arresting. I look like a half Clydesdale."
Sum Fat's eyes clouded, then again gleamed with benevolent interest. "You take
it easy one day or two—no walk much—just loaf—no go see pretty ladies—"
"Go 'way, you heathen—go clean your teeth!" cried Whitaker, indignantly.
"—and I think be all well and sound," concluded Su
