“They don’t believe anything,” Blythe said, weakly.
“We believe you; tell us about it?” Warde said. “Did your brother kill someone?”
“No, but he tried to kill me. Didn’t I tell you?”
“No, you never told us,” Warde said, gently. “Tell us now.”
“It was at Camp Merritt.”
“What do you mean? When?”
Blythe closed his eyes and lay for a few moments, silent. It seemed as if he slept. The boys looked at each other, puzzled. The invalid opened his eyes and smiled.
“Did you pick up all the sticks?” he asked.
“Yes, we did,” Warde said. “Tell us about your brother; we’re all friends.”
“Friends and comrades,” Blythe said faintly.