The first basket went, by Johnny's request, to Sidney Page.
“I want her to have it,” he said. “She got corns on her fingers from rubbing me when I came in first; and, besides—”
“Yes?” said K. He was tying a most complicated knot, and could not look up.
“I know something,” said Johnny. “I'm not going to get in wrong by talking, but I know something. You give her the basket.”
K. looked up then, and surprised Johnny's secret in his face.
“Ah!” he said.
“If I'd squealed she'd have finished me for good. They've got me, you know. I'm not running in 2.40 these days.”
“I'll not tell, or make it uncomfortable for you. What do you know?”
Johnny looked around. The ward was in the somnolence of mid-afternoon. The nearest patient, a man in a wheel-chair, was snoring heavily.
“It was the dark-eyed one that changed the medicine on me,” he said. “The one with the heels that were always tapping around, waking me up. She did it; I saw her.”