"Haven't found that out myself yet," George answered, "but I know I wouldn't go to another, even if they'd have me."
He grimaced at his injured foot.
"And they're going to give you some kind of a medal!" Bailly cried.
"I didn't ask for it," George said, "but I daresay a lot of people, you among them, went down to Washington and did."
Bailly was a trifle uncomfortable.
"See here," George said. "I don't want your old medal, and I don't intend to be scolded about it. I suppose I've got to rush right out to the Alstons."
"Let's stop at the club," Bailly proposed. "People want to see you. We'll fight the war over with the veterans."
"Damn the war!" George said.
Mrs. Bailly, when he paused for a moment at the house in Dickinson Street, attacked him, and quite innocently, from a different direction.
"It was the wish of my life, George, that you should have Betty, and you might have had. I can't help feeling that."