"Hello, Still! The mountains have come to Mahomet!"
"And a poor welcome I gave you," replied Jim. "Hello, Sara."
Jim turned to the great invalid chair. There, propped up in cushions, lay a fat travesty of the old Saradokis. This was a Sara whose tawny hair was turning gray with suffering; whose mouth, once so full and boyish, was now heavy and sinister, whose buoyancy had changed to the bitter irritability of the hopeless invalid.
Sara looked Jim over deliberately, then dropped his hand. "How do you think I am? Enjoying the dirty deal I've had from life?"
Jim had not realized before just what a dirty deal Sara had been given. "I'm sorry about it, Sara," he said.
Saradokis gave an ugly laugh. "Sounds well! I've never heard a word from you since the day we ran the Marathon. You hold a grudge as well as a Greek, Jim."
"Gee, I'd forgotten all about the race!" exclaimed Jim.
"I haven't," returned Sara. "Neither the race nor several other things."
Jim shrugged his shoulders and turned to Pen, who was watching the two men anxiously.