"I telephoned Doc Bronson to come out," said Blair, "and look us over. That made Red as sore as a pup. Isn't he the limit? By thunder, you can't do anything for some people."
Blair's tone and words of apparent vexation were at variance with the kindness of his eyes as they rested upon his sick comrade.
"I just came from Bronson's," observed Lane. "He's been our doctor for as long as I can remember."
Both Lane's comrades searched his face with questioning eyes, and while Lane returned that gaze there was a little constrained silence.
"Bronson examined me—and said I'd live to be eighty," added Lane, with dry humor.
"You're a liar!" burst out Blair.
On Red Payson's worn face a faint smile appeared. "Carry on, Dare."
Then Blair fell to questioning Lane as to all the news he had heard, and people he had met.
"So Manton turned you down cold," said Blair, ponderingly.
"I didn't get to see him," replied Lane. "He sent out word that my old job was held by a girl who did my work better and at less pay."
The blood leaped to Blair's white cheek.
"What'd you say?" he queried.
"Nothing much. I just trailed out.... But the truth is, Blair—I couldn't have stood that place—not for a day."
"I get you," rejoined Blair. "That isn't the point, though. I always wondered if we'd find our old jobs open to us. Of course, I couldn't fill mine now. It was an outside job—lots of walking."
So the conversation see-sawed back and forth, with Red Payson listening in languid interest.
"Have you seen any of the girls?" asked Blair.
"I met Mel Iden," replied Lane.
"You did? What did she—"
"Mel told me what explained some of your hints."
"Ahuh! Poor Mel! How'd she look?"
"Greatly changed," replied Lane, thoughtfully. "How do you remember Mel?"
"Well, she was pretty—soulful face—wonderful smile—that sort of thing."
"She's beautiful now, and sad."
"I shouldn't wonder. And she told you right out about the baby?"
"No. That came out when she said I couldn't call on her, and I wanted to know why."
"But you'll go anyhow?"
"Yes."
"So will I," returned Blair, with spirit. "Dare, I've known for over a year about Mel's disgrace. You used to like her, and I hated to tell you. If it had been Helen I'd have told you in a minute. But Mel ... Well, I suppose we must expect queer things. I got a jolt this morning. I was pumping my sister Margie about everybody, and, of course, Mel's name came up. You remember Margie and Mel were as thick as two peas in a pod. Looks like Mel's fall has hurt Margie. But I don't just get Margie yet. She might be another fellow's sister—for all the strangeness of her."
"I hardly knew my kid sister," responded Lane.
"Ahuh! The plot thickens.... Well, I couldn't get much out of Marg. She used to babble everything. But what little she told me made up in—in shock for what it lacked in volume."
"Tell me," said Lane, as his friend paused.
"Nothing doing." ... And turning to the sick boy on the bed, he remarked, "Red, you needn't let this—this gab of ours bother you. This is home talk between a couple of boobs who're burying their illusions in the grave. You didn't leave a sister or a lot of old schoolgirl sweethearts behind to——"
"What the hell do you know about whom I left behind?" retorted Red, with a swift blaze of strange passion.
"Oh, say, Red—I—I beg your pardon, I was only kidding," responded Blair, in surprise and contrition. "You never told me a word about yourself."
For answer Red Payson rolled over wearily and turned his back.
"Blair, I'll beat it, and let Red go to sleep," said Lane, taking up his hat. "Red, good-bye this time. I hope you'll be better soon."
"I'm—sorry, Lane," came in muffled tones from Payson.
"Cut that out, boy. You've nothing to be sorry for. Forget it and cheer up."
Blair hobbled downstairs after Lane. "Don't go just yet, Dare."
They found seats in the parlor that appeared to be the same shabby genteel place where Lane had used to call upon Blair's sister.
"What ails Red?" queried Lane, bluntly.
"Lord only knows. He's a queer duck. Once in a while he lets out a crack like that. There's a lot to Red."
"Blair, his heart is broken," said Lane, tragically.
"Well!" exclaimed Blair, with quick almost haughty uplift of head. He seemed to resent Lane's surprise and intimation. It was a rebuke that made Lane shrink.
"I never thought of Red's being hurt—you know—or as having lost.... Oh, he just seemed like so many other boys ruined in health. I——"
"All right. Cut the sentiment," interrupted Blair. "The fact is Red is more of a problem than we had any idea he'd be.... And Dare, listen to this—I'm ashamed to have to tell you. Mother raised old Harry with me this morning for fetching Red home. She couldn't see it my way. She said there were hospitals for sick soldiers who hadn't homes. I lost my temper and I said: 'The hell of it, mother, is that there's nothing of the kind.' ... She said we couldn't keep him here. I tried to coax her.... Margie helped, but nothing doing."
Blair had spoken hurriedly with again a stain of red in his white cheek, and a break in his voice.
"That's—tough," replied Lane, haltingly. He could choke back speech, but not the something in his voice he would rather not have heard. "I'll tell you what. As soon as Red is well enough we'll move him over to my house. I'm sure mother will let him share my room. There's only Lorna—and I'll pay Red's board.... You have quite a family—"
"Hell, Dare—don't apologize to me for my mother," burst out Blair, bitterly.
"Blair, I believe you realize what we are up against—and I don't," rejoined Lane, with level gaze upon his friend.
"Dare, can't you see we're up against worse than the Argonne?—worse, because back here at home—that beautiful, glorious thought—idea—spirit we had is gone. Dead!"
"No, I can't see," returned Lane, stubbornly.
"Well, I guess that's one reason we all loved you, Dare—you couldn't see.... But I'll bet you my crutch Helen makes you see. Her father made a pile out of the war. She's a war-rich snob now. And going the pace!"
"Blair, she may make me see her faithlessness—and perhaps some strange unrest—some change that's seemed to come over everything. But she can't prove to me the death of anything outside of herself. She can't prove that any more than Mel Iden's confession proved her a wanton. It didn't. Not to me. Why, when Mel put her hand on my breast—on this medal—and looked at me—I had such a thrill as I never had before in all my life. Never!... Blair, it's not dead. That beautiful thing you mentioned—that spirit—that fire which burned so gloriously—it is not dead."
"Not in you—old pard," replied Blair, unsteadily. "I'm always ashamed before your faith. And, by God, I'll say you're my only anchor."
"Blair, let's play the game out to the end," said Lane.
"I get you, Dare.... For Margie, for Lorna, for Mel—even if they have—"
"Yes," answered Lane, as Blair faltered.
CHAPTER