"No, not so very," replied the trained nurse cheerfully. "But you must keep quiet if you are to get well quickly. The doctor will be in to see you soon."
Joe sunk into a sort of doze, and when he awakened again the doctor was in his room.
"Well, how about me?" asked the young performer.
"You might be a whole lot worse," replied the medical man with a smile.
"It's just a bad wrench and sprain. You'll be lame and sore for maybe two weeks, but eventually you'll be able to go back, risking your neck again."
"Oh, there's not such an awful lot of risks," Joe said. "This was just an accident--my first of any account. I can't understand how my hands slipped off the bar. Guess I didn't put enough resin on them. How long will I be here?"
"Oh, perhaps a week--maybe less."
"Did they bring my pocketbook--I mean my money?"
"You don't have to worry about that," said the doctor. "It has all been attended to. A Miss Morton made all the arrangements."
"Oh," was all Joe said, but he did a lot of thinking.
Joe's injury was more painful than serious. His sore muscles had to be treated with liniment and electricity, and often massaged. This took time, but in less than a week he was able to be out of bed and could sit in an easy chair, out on one of the verandas.
Of course Joe wrote to Helen as soon as he could, thanking her and his other friends for what they had done for him. In return he received a letter from Helen, telling him how she--and all of the circus folk--missed him.
There was also a card from Benny Turton, and a note from Jim Tracy, telling Joe that his place was ready for him whenever he could come back. But he was not to hurry himself. They had put no one in his place on the bill, simply cutting his act out. The Lascalla Brothers worked with another trapeze performer, who gave up his own act temporarily to take Joe's position.
"Well, I guess everything will be all right," reflected our hero. "But I'll join the show again as soon as I can."
Joe was sitting on the sunny veranda one afternoon in a sort of doze.
Other convalescent patients were near him, and he had been listening, rather idly, to their talk. He was startled to hear one man say:
"Well, I'd have been all right, and I could have my own automobile now, if I hadn't been foolish enough to speculate in oil stocks."
"What kind did you buy?" another patient asked.
"Oh, one of those advertised so much--they made all sorts of claims for it, and I was simple enough to believe them. I put every cent I had saved up in the Circle City Oil Syndicate, and now I can whistle for my cash--just when I need it too, with hospital and doctor bills to pay."
"Can't you get any of it back?"
"I don't think so. In fact I'd sell my stock now for a dollar a share and be glad to get it. I paid twenty-five. Well, it can't be helped."
Joe looked up and looked over at the speaker. He was a middle-aged man, and he recognized him as a patient who had come in for treatment for rheumatism.
Joe wondered whether he had heard aright.
"The Circle City Oil Syndicate," mused Joe. "That's the one Helen has her money in--or, rather, the one that San ford put her money in for her. I wonder if it can be the same company. I must find out, and if it is----"
Joe did not know just what he would do. What he had overheard caused him to be vaguely uneasy. His old suspicions came back to him.
CHAPTER XXII
BAD NEWS
Joe Strong waited until he had a chance to speak privately to the man who had admitted losing money in oil stocks. This hospital patient was a Mr. Anton Buchard, and his room was not far from Joe's.
"Excuse me," began the young trapeze performer in opening the talk.
"But a short time ago I happened to overhear what you were telling your friend about some oil stocks--the Circle City Syndicate. I didn't mean to listen, but I couldn't help hearing what you were saying."
"Oh, don't let that part worry you," said Mr. Buchard. "It's no secret that I lost my money in that wild-cat speculation. But are you interested in it?"
"To a certain extent I am," Joe answered.
"I hope you didn't buy any of the worthless stock."
"No, but a friend of mine was induced to. That is--er--she--she has some stock of the Circle City Oil Syndicate. It may not be the same as that you were speaking of."
"No, that is true. There are many oil concerns in the market, and lots of them are legitimate, and are making money. But there are plenty of others which are frauds. And the one I invested in is that kind.
"Of course, as you say, it may not be the same as that in which your friend holds stock, even if it has the same name. Would you know any of the officers or directors of the concern in which your friend holds stock?"
"I'm afraid not," Joe replied. "I did not see her stock certificates.
She bought them through a law clerk named Sanford."
Mr. Buchard shook his head.
"I don't recognize that name," he said. "But of course anybody could sell the stock. How did your friend ever come to be interested in this concern?"
Thereupon Joe told of Helen's inheritance, mentioning the fact that he and she both were in the circus.
"The circus, eh!" exclaimed the man. "Well, now that's interesting! I remember, when I was a boy, it was my great ambition to run away and join a circus. But I dare say it isn't such a life of roses as I imagined."
"There's plenty of hard work," Joe told him, "and then something like this is likely to happen to you at any time--especially if you are on the trapeze," and he motioned to the bandages still around his neck and shoulders.
"I'll tell you what I'll do," said Mr. Buchard, when Joe had finished telling of Helen's fortune. "I'm going out of here in a couple of days. I'm getting much better--that is until the next attack. I'll get out my worthless certificates of stock in the Circle City Oil Syndicate, and bring you one. You can then see the names of the officers and directors, and can compare them with the names on Miss Morton's stock. If they are the same it's pretty sure to be the same company."
"And if it is," asked Joe, "would you advise her to sell out?"
"Sell out! My dear boy, I only hope she will be able to. I wish I had known in time--I'd have sold out quickly enough. I never should have bought the stuff. But it's too late to worry about that now. The money is lost.
"Yes, that's what I'll do. I'll bring you a stock certificate and you can compare it with Miss Morton's when you see her. Are you going out soon?"
"In a few days, I hope. I want to get back to the circus."
"I don't blame you. It isn't very cheerful here, though they do the best they can for you."
Mr. Buchard was as good as his word. The day after he left the hospital he came back to call on Joe.