“We can't talk here. I want to talk to you, K.”
He led the way into the corridor. It was very dim. Far away was the night nurse's desk, with its lamp, its annunciator, its pile of records. The passage floor reflected the light on glistening boards.
“I have been thinking until I am almost crazy, K. And now I know how it happened. It was Joe.”
“The principal thing is, not how it happened, but that he is going to get well, Sidney.”
She stood looking down, twisting her ring around her finger.
“Is Joe in any danger?”
“We are going to get him away to-night. He wants to go to Cuba. He'll get off safely, I think.”
“WE are going to get him away! YOU are, you mean. You shoulder all our troubles, K., as if they were your own.”
“I?” He was genuinely surprised. “Oh, I see. You mean—but my part in getting Joe off is practically nothing. As a matter of fact, Schwitter has put up the money. My total capital in the world, after paying the taxicab to-day, is seven dollars.”
“The taxicab?”