“Well, he’s just like my brother—he nearly lives with us. And from the time that they joined up we had to think of the chance of their losing a limb. Jim never says anything about it, but I know Wally dreads it. Dad and I found out all we could about artificial limbs, and what can be done with them, so that we could help the boys if they had bad luck. They are all right, so far, but of course there is always the chance.”
Hardress nodded.
“We planned that if bad luck came we would try to get them to do as much as possible. Of course an arm is worse: to lose a leg is bad enough, goodness knows—but it’s better than an arm.”
“That’s one of the problems I’ve been studying,” Hardress said grimly.
“Oh, but it is. And with you—why, in a few years no one will ever guess that you have anything wrong. It’s luck in one way, because a leg doesn’t make you conspicuous, and an arm does.”
“That’s true,” he said energetically. “I have hoped desperately that I’d be able to hide it; I just couldn’t stick the idea of people looking at me.”
“Well, they won’t,” said Norah. “And the more you can carry on as usual, the less bad it will seem. Now, let’s plan what you can tackle first. Can you walk much?”
“Not much. I get tired after about fifty yards.”
“Well, we’ll do fifty yards whenever you feel like it, and then we’ll sit down and talk until you can go on again.” She hesitated. “You—it doesn’t trouble you to sit down?”
“Oh, no!” said Hardress, laughing for the first time. “It’s an awfully docile leg!”