"Why, yes," said Bunny. He fancied he detected a note of wistfulness in the other's tone. "Why, yes; so it is. I—I wish you could come out with us."
"I wish I could." The sick boy tried bravely to put some simulation of enthusiasm in his voice, but failed.
Bunny rose to his feet. He couldn't imagine the bookish and hermit-like Prissler skylarking with the fellows; the boy didn't—well, didn't just "fit." He wasn't "one of the crowd." But, of course, you couldn't say that to a fellow who was sick. And you could say something nice!
"I'll tell you what, Prissler," he proposed. "I'll be your proxy to-night when we're out. I'll pretend, you know, that I'm walking about on your legs, and using your arms and your brain; and then to-morrow I'll come again and tell you all the things you did—through me, by proxy, you understand. It will be the next best fun to your being actually one of the bunch, won't it?"
"Yes," answered Prissler dutifully; "yes, I suppose so." He held out a weak hand. "Well, good-by, Bunny. It was fine of you to come and see me. Good-by."
Out in the hall, Bunny met Doctor Maxwell. A sudden impulse made him stop the man.
"Doctor," he said, "I am a classmate of Clarence Prissler's at the high school. Can you tell me how he is getting along?"
The physician eyed him thoughtfully. "I am glad you called upon him," he said presently. "The truth is, young Prissler isn't recovering as he should; he isn't building up in mind or body after his siege. I've thought, once or twice, that he needed a more intimate touch with the outside world; that's why I am glad you called upon him. Nobody else has."
"He—well, sir, he isn't what you call a very popular fellow in school," apologized Bunny. "Doesn't play any games, and keeps to himself, you know, sir, and seems to prefer his own company to anybody else's. There isn't any—any danger that he won't get well, is there, sir?"
"There is every danger," replied Doctor Maxwell soberly. "He is in a weak, despondent condition, from which he does not seem to be able to arouse himself. He has no interest in what is going on, no apparent desire to rally and grow stronger. If it were possible to inject fresh enthusiasm into him, some actual ambition to get up from his bed and out into the world again, it would mean more than any attention or medicine we can give him here. He—well, I'm glad you called, anyhow. We shall hope for the best."