When his name was called, Potts stepped through to the landing and descended the top stairs. Joe locked the door.
Potts looked up at Danny Harris, who stood motionless on the landing. While Joe weaved down the crowded steps, Wilhart took Harris by the arm and pushed him.
"Let's go," he said. "Here, Orville Potts, take Danny Harris downstairs with you."
Potts said, "Do your own dragging."
"Well!" Wilhart gasped. "Hear that, Joe? Orville Potts is talking this morning!"
Joe turned up a red, grim face. "He'll talk a lot before I'm through with him," he promised.
The sixteen patients from Ward J descended the stairs, were counted through another door, and formed a ragged column of twos on the concrete walk outside. With Joe leading and Wilhart guarding the rear, the little formation moved across the great grassy quadrangle enclosed by the buildings and connecting roofed corridors of the hospital.
Potts tried to close his ears to Wilhart's incessant urging of Danny Harris. Harris would do little of his own volition, but Potts was tired of acting as his escort.
The blue morning sky supported but a few brilliant clouds. Potts wished he were up there, or anywhere except going to P. T. He hated P. T. It terrified him. Potts closed his eyes.