And when this was done, though she still talked smilingly of the child, again and again she glanced up at John’s face, at the strange self-absorbed expression, stern and sad and wistful, there.  When he had gone the tears came in her eyes.  And Deborah sent for her husband.

* * * * *

The next day, at the office, John came into Roger’s room.  Roger had been at work several days and they had already cleared up their affairs.

“Here’s something,” said John gruffly, “that I wish you’d put away somewhere.”

And he handed to his partner a small blue leather album, filled with the newspaper clippings dealing with Deborah’s illness.  On the front page was one with her picture and a long record of her service to the children of New York.

“She wouldn’t want to see it now,” John continued awkwardly.  “But I thought maybe later on the boy would like to have it.  What do you think?” he inquired.  Roger gave him a kindly glance.

“I think he will.  It’s a fine thing to keep.”  And he handed it back.  “But I guess you’d better put it away, and give it to her later yourself.”

John shifted his weight on his crutches, so quickly that Roger looked up in alarm: 

“Look here!  You’re not well!” He saw now that the face of the cripple was white and the sweat was glistening on his brow.  John gave a harsh little nervous laugh.

“Oh, it’s nothing much, partner,” he replied.  “That’s another thing I wanted to tell you.  I’ve had some queer pains lately—­new ones!” He caught his breath.

“Why didn’t you tell me, you young fool?”

“You had your own troubles, didn’t you?” John spoke with difficulty.  “But I’ll be all right, I guess!  All I need is a few days off!”

Roger had pressed a button, and his stenographer came in.

“Call a taxi,” he said sharply.  “And, John, you go right over there and lie down.  I’m going to take you home at once!”

“I’ve got a better scheme,” said John, setting his determined jaws.  The sweat was pouring down his cheeks.  “It may be a week—­but there’s just a chance it—­may be a little worse than that!  So I’ve got a room in a hospital!  See?  Be better all round!” He swayed forward.

“Johnny!” Roger caught him just in time, and the boy lay senseless in his arms.

* * * * *

At home, a few hours later, Allan came with another physician down from John’s small bedroom.  He saw his colleague to the door and then came in to Roger.

“I’m afraid Johnny has come to the end.”

For a moment Roger stared at him.

“Has, eh,” he answered huskily.  “You’re absolutely sure he has?  There’s nothing—­nothing on earth we can do?”

“Nothing more than we’re doing now.”

“He has fooled you fellows before, you know—­”

“Not this time.”

“How long will it be?”