Johnny Rosenfeld was dead. All of K.'s skill had not sufficed to save him.

The operation had been a marvel, but the boy's long-sapped strength failed

at the last.

K., set of face, stayed with him to the end. The boy did not know he was

going. He roused from the coma and smiled up at Le Moyne.

"I've got a hunch that I can move my right foot," he said. "Look and see."

K. lifted the light covering.

"You're right, old man. It's moving."

"Brake foot, clutch foot," said Johnny, and closed his eyes again.

K. had forbidden the white screens, that outward symbol of death. Time

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enough for them later. So the ward had no suspicion, nor had the boy.

The ward passed in review. It was Sunday, and from the chapel far below

came the faint singing of a hymn. When Johnny spoke again he did not open

his eyes.

"You're some operator, Mr. Le Moyne. I'll put in a word for you whenever I

get a chance."

"Yes, put in a word for me," said K. huskily.

He felt that Johnny would be a good mediator--that whatever he, K., had

done of omission or commission, Johnny's voice before the Tribunal would

count.

The lame young violin-player came into the ward. She had cherished a

secret and romantic affection for Max Wilson, and now he was in the

hospital and ill. So she wore the sacrificial air of a young nun and

played "The Holy City."

Johnny was close on the edge of his long sleep by that time, and very

comfortable.

"Tell her nix on the sob stuff," he complained. "Ask her to play 'I'm

twenty-one and she's eighteen.'"

She was rather outraged, but on K.'s quick explanation she changed to the

staccato air.

"Ask her if she'll come a little nearer; I can't hear her."

So she moved to the foot of the bed, and to the gay little tune Johnny

began his long sleep. But first he asked K. a question: "Are you sure I'm

going to walk, Mr. Le Moyne?"

"I give you my solemn word," said K. huskily, "that you are going to be

better than you have ever been in your life."

It was K. who, seeing he would no longer notice, ordered the screens to be

set around the bed, K. who drew the coverings smooth and folded the boy's

hands over his breast.

The violin-player stood by uncertainly.

"How very young he is! Was it an accident?"




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