say much; he seemed too weary for the effort of sustained talk. But he was enjoying their visit. Shadows of smiles ran across his mouth at some of Dolf's recitals of what was going on in Springham. When Bert spoke of their class in the school, and of the coming graduation, he looked at him but did not seem to see him. A nurse came in, busied herself with his pulse and temperature, called him "Old Warrior," smoothed his pillow and departed. Dr. Elman looked at his watch.
"Got to go, Bill," he said, with the same gentleness. "You're not the only chap in the world calling for a doctor."
They stood up to leave. Dolf and the man went through the doorway, and Bert took a quick step back toward the bed.
"I didn't quit that night," he said. "Policeman Glynn told my father. I was kept in."
Bill stared steadily up at the ceiling. "I wish I had been," he answered.
Bert went away with the feeling that, at the last moment, he had said the wrong thing.
The ride back to Springham was as silent as the ride out had been. Dr. Elman had some town visits to make, and they left his car on a Washington Avenue corner. Peg Scudder, sunning himself in his sidewalk chair, stuck a crutch under one armpit, pulled himself erect, and hobbled toward them.
"Hey, you!" he roared. "Blast your hides,
