and cut his face and neck up."

"My goodness! Did he get cut bad?"

"No, not very, but yesterday morning he was out cultivating corn,
all stuck up with court plaster. I knew that was a fool thing to
do; a wire cut's nasty if you get overheated out in the dust. But
you can't tell a Wheeler anything. Now they say his face has
swelled and is hurting him terrible, and he's gone to town to see
the doctor. You'd better go over there tonight, and see if you
can make him take care of himself."

Leonard drove on, and Ernest went back to his team. "It's queer
about that boy," he was thinking. "He's big and strong, and he's
got an education and all that fine land, but he don't seem to fit
in right." Sometimes Ernest thought his friend was unlucky. When
that idea occurred to him, he sighed and shook it off. For Ernest
believed there was no help for that; it was something rationalism
did not explain.

The next afternoon Enid Royce's coupe drove up to the Wheeler
farmyard. Mrs. Wheeler saw Enid get out of her car and came down
the hill to meet her, breathless and distressed. "Oh, Enid!
You've heard of Claude's accident? He wouldn't take care of
himself, and now he's got erysipelas. He's in such pain, poor
boy!"

Enid took her arm, and they started up the hill toward the house.
"Can I see Claude, Mrs. Wheeler? I want to give him these
flowers."

Mrs. Wheeler hesitated. "I don't know if he will let you come in,
dear. I had hard work persuading him to see Ernest for a few
moments last night. He seems so low-spirited, and he's sensitive
about the way he's bandaged up. I'll go to his room and ask him."

"No, just let me go up with you, please. If I walk in with you,
he won't have time to fret about it. I won't stay if he doesn't
wish it, but I want to see him."

Mrs. Wheeler was alarmed at this suggestion, but Enid ignored her
uncertainty. They went up to the third floor together, and Enid
herself tapped at the door.

"It's I, Claude. May I come in for a moment?"

A muffled, reluctant voice answered. "No. They say this is
catching, Enid. And anyhow, I'd rather you didn't see me like
this."

Without waiting she pushed open the door. The dark blinds were
down, and the room was full of a strong, bitter odor. Claude lay
flat in bed, his head and face so smothered in surgical cotton
that only his eyes and the tip of his nose were visible. The
brown paste with which his features were smeared oozed out at the
edges of the gauz