"Even if you're wrong-headed, I'm glad to hear you talk that way. At last you're thinking of humanity."
"I'm thinking of myself," George snapped.
Bailly shook his head.
"I believe you're talking from your heart."
"I'm talking from a smashed leg," George cried, "and I'm sleepy and tired and cross, and I guess I'd better go to bed."
"It all runs back to the beginning," Bailly said in a discouraged voice. "I'm afraid you'll never learn the meaning of service."
George sprang up, wincing. Bailly's wrinkled face softened; his young eyes filled with sympathy.
"Does that wound still bother you, George?"
"Yes, sir," George answered, softly. "I guess it bothers as much as it ever did."