And he was splendidly afire with dreams.
In July the little doctor found his patient strong enough for crutches and dismissed the nurse. And unexpectedly John Whitaker arrived, growling his opinion of the rural trains.
"Can you walk without your crutches?" he barked, his glasses oddly moist.
"A little," said Brian.
Whitaker sat down and blinked.
"You don't deserve a job," he grumbled, "turning me down for a dynamite spree, but I'm going to send you to Ireland in the fall. There's a story there—a big one. If," he added grimly, "you can manage to get in."
Late August found the tension of worry at an end. Brian at last was walking. And Don had fought a battle with his books and won.
Kenny's spirits soared.