Checked, Rupert stared at the other with many shifting expressions twitching his own angry dark face.
"Do you know what the doctors say?" he demanded, at last. "Are you knowing, when you ask me to let Rose off, what he's done to you?"
"Yes," was the laconic answer.
There was no retort to that all-sufficient brevity. None was attempted.
The windows had gradually paled from gray to white, streaks of gold caught and reflected in the glass panes as the sun drew up above the horizon. All night the air had been filled with a steady murmur and dull flow of sound, unobserved because of its very continuity. Now, across the hush of the sick room unexpectedly crashed a roar of rapid explosions, growing thunderous as it approached nearer; cheers of joyous excitement pealed from many throats. Gerard started, his eyes blazing wide.
"The race," flung the mechanician bitterly. "It's on."
Gerard slowly raised his left arm and dropped it across his face as those who yesterday were his mates rushed past the house. With the movement a spot of crimson sprang into view against the linen swathing his shoulder, enlarging ominously, but even the alarmed Rupert knew this was no time to summon doctor or nurse, whatever the physical cost.
"Don't you think?" Gerard presently asked, quite gently and naturally, "that I've got enough to stand, Rupert?"
The sound that broke from the vanquished mechanician was less cry than curse.
"I'll shut up!" he cast his submission before the victor. "I ain't going to lie—I'd choke—but I'll hold my tongue. Don't ask more or I'll take back that. You've got me down; I'll shut up."