"Oh," he choked, "if someone would only swear at me!"
"I—I'd like to," said Kenny wryly, "for your sake and for my own, but I'm all—in."
He stared dully at the fire until the stair creaked and Frank came in with Doctor Cole.
"There isn't yet," Frank told him, "a single pressure symptom that I consider alarming and Doctor Cole has done wonders with his leg. But any emotional excitement is a danger. Three minutes, old man." He followed Kenny up the stairway, watch in hand.
The raftered room was dim and quiet. Kenny sickened at the faint odor of antiseptics and softly closed the door.
Brian opened his eyes.
"Kenny, old dear," he said softly, "all these doctors are boobs. Frank in particular is an awful ass. I told him so. He's loaded with fool questions. One look at the Irish face of you is worth them all."
Kenny, staring at the pallid face upon the pillow, blinked and smiled.
"Frank told me you drove up here through the sleet," marveled Brian, clinging to his hand. "A god-forsaken spot! I'm sorry—"
"Three minutes!" warned Frank Barrington at the door. He knew Kenny much too well to trust him further.