"No," Max returned vigorously. "Now listen to me, Bertrand. If I am to keep quiet about this illness of yours, you have got to make me a promise."
Bertrand raised his brows interrogatively.
"Just this," Max said, "that if you find yourself at a loose end, you will come to me."
Bertrand looked quizzical. "A loose end?" he questioned.
"You know what it means all right," Max returned sternly. "Is it a promise?"
"That I come to you if I need a friend?" amended Bertrand. "But—why should I do that?"
"Because I am a friend if you like," said Max bluntly.
Bertrand's hand closed hard upon his. "I have—no words," he said, in a voice from which all banter had departed.
Max gripped the hand. "Then it's a promise?"
Bertrand hesitated.