Alton laughed a little. "Well," he said, "we'll see. Bring me a good solid piece of venison, and take those things away."
He made an ample meal, dressed himself with wholly unusual fastidiousness, and when Seaforth left him for a few moments strode out of the room. One leg felt very stiff and he clutched the balustrade a moment when he came to the head of a short stairway, then stiffened himself, and, putting all the weight he could on the limb that was least useful, stepped forward resolutely to descend it. His knee bent suddenly under him, he clutched at the rails, and missed them, reeled and lost his balance, and there was a crash as Seaforth sprang out of his room. He was in time to see his comrade rise and lean against the logs at the foot of the stairway very white and grim in face, and shivered a little as he went down.
"What's the meaning of this, Charley ?" said Alton with an ominous quietness. "I just put my weight on my left foot—and down I came."
Again Seaforth shrank from his task. "You were warned not to try to walk much for a week or two."
"Pshaw!" said Alton with sudden fierceness. "There's more than that."
Seaforth laid his hand compassionately upon his comrade's shoulder.
"It had to come sooner or later—and I was afraid to tell you before.
You will never walk quite as well as you used to, Harry."
Alton clutched the balustrade, and a greyness crept into his face.
"I," he said very slowly, "a cripple—all my life!"
Seaforth said nothing, and there was a silence for almost a minute until Alton slowly straightened himself. "Well," he said quietly, "there is no use kicking—but this was to have been the best day of my life."
Seaforth understood him and saw his opportunity. "I don't think that will make any difference, Harry."
Alton seemed to choke down a groan. "I had so little before," he said.