"I'm—sorry, Lane," came in muffled tones from Payson.
"Cut that out, boy. You've nothing to be sorry for. Forget it and cheer up."
Blair hobbled downstairs after Lane. "Don't go just yet, Dare."
They found seats in the parlor that appeared to be the same shabby genteel place where Lane had used to call upon Blair's sister.
"What ails Red?" queried Lane, bluntly.
"Lord only knows. He's a queer duck. Once in a while he lets out a crack like that. There's a lot to Red."
"Blair, his heart is broken," said Lane, tragically.
"Well!" exclaimed Blair, with quick almost haughty uplift of head. He seemed to resent Lane's surprise and intimation. It was a rebuke that made Lane shrink.
"I never thought of Red's being hurt—you know—or as having lost.... Oh, he just seemed like so many other boys ruined in health. I——"
"All right. Cut the sentiment," interrupted Blair. "The fact is Red is more of a problem than we had any idea he'd be.... And Dare, listen to this—I'm ashamed to have to tell you. Mother raised old Harry with me this morning for fetching Red home. She couldn't see it my way. She said there were hospitals for sick soldiers who hadn't homes. I lost my temper and I said: 'The hell of it, mother, is that there's nothing of the kind.' ... She said we couldn't keep him here. I tried to coax her.... Margie helped, but nothing doing."