gh she must have seen how they helped, one in a chair on either
side of the bed; and it was difficult not to look at only one. In her
eyes he sought for a souvenir of those tears, and wanted to tell her how
sorry he was; but he wasn't really sorry, and anyway she mustn't guess
that he knew. Why had Mrs. Bailly bothered to tell him at all? Could her
motherly instinct hope for a coming together so far beyond belief? His
memory of the remote portrait reminded him that it was incredible in
every way. He sighed. Betty beckoned Mrs. Bailly and rose.

"Don't go," George begged, aware that he ought to urge her to go.

"Betty was having tea with me," Mrs. Bailly offered.

"I would have asked to be brought anyway," Betty said, openly. "You
frightened us yesterday. We've all wanted to find out the truth."

There was in her eyes now at least a reminiscent pain.

"Don't worry," he said, "I'll take care of Lambert Planter for you after
all."

She stooped swiftly and offered her hand.

"You'll take care of yourself. It would be beastly if they let you play
at the slightest risk."

He grasped her hand. The touch of her flesh, combined with such a
memory, made him momentarily forgetful. He held her hand too long, too
firmly. He saw the colour waver in her pale cheeks. He let her hand go,
but he continued to watch her eyes until they turned uncertainly to Mrs.
Bailly.

When they had left he slept again. He slept away his listlessness of the
past few weeks. As he confided to his callers, who were confined to an
hour in the afternoon, he did nothing but sleep and eat. He was more
content than he had been since his indifferent days, long past, at
Oakmont. All these people had deserted the game for him when he was no
longer of any use to the game. Then he had acquired, even for such
clashing types as Wandel and Allen, a value that survived his football.
He had advanced on a road where he had not consciously set his feet. He
treasured that thought. Next Saturday he would reward these friends, for
he was confident he could do it now. By Wednesday he was up and dressed,
feeling better than he had since the commencement of the season. If only
they didn't hurt his head again! The newspapers helped there, too. If he
played, they said, it would be under a severe handicap. He smiled,
knowing he was far fitter, except for his head, than he had been the
week before.

Until the squad left for New Haven he continued to live in the
infirmary,