"Can you climb out," asked the voice, "or will I have to carry you?"
[Illustration: "ALLEN!" SHE CRIED, DRAWING A CHAIR TO THE BED-SIDE.]
Allen's head jerked up proudly, and he forced still a little more from that splendid reserve of strength. Afterward he could never remember how he clambered over that windowsill, and got his feet upon the ladder.
That he did it and managed the descent with the aid of the firemen, he afterward learned from his friends. All he could remember, was the great shout which came to him like a little murmur that went up from the crowd at sight of him.
He was a hero, a great hero, but at the time the fact interested him not at all. He wanted to sleep—to sleep—if they would only let him sleep!
Four days later, he awoke and looked around him lazily. A delightful drowsiness surrounded him; he was too comfortable even to inquire where he was.
Then a sweet voice reached his ears and he turned his head sharply.
"No, thank you," it said. "I think I'll take these to him myself, if you don't mind. This door? Thank you."
Fascinated, Allen watched the door as it slowly opened, admitting—Betty! Betty, sweeter and more beautiful than he had ever seen her. Her eyes widened at sight of him, and she ran forward impulsively.
"Allen!" she cried, drawing a chair to the bedside and taking his outstretched hand. "Oh, I'm so glad! I was afraid you were just going to sleep on forever. How do you feel?"