CHAPTER VIII
HY BRASAIL
JOAN opened her eyes, closed them again drowsily, and opened them once more. On the end of her bed sat a small figure in pajamas, with its hands clasped over its knees. The crutches leaned against the side of the bed. They did not seem to go at all well with the pajamas, somehow.
"I hope I didn't disturve you," said Garth. "I thought of course you must be awake; that tug's been making such a fuss."
"What tug?"
"She came in with three barges, and she's been whistling for a clear fairway for ages. She blew and she blew! I thought you must be waked up. But you weren't, so I sat here. Do you mind my coming in?"
"Not at all," said Joan.
"It's rather cold," Garth observed, hugging his knees tighter.
"You'd better get under the covers, then," Joan advised.
"I was waiting till you asked me to," said
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