"Hello, Court! Where the deuce have you been? We've looked everywhere
for you. You didn't come to the dining-hall! What's wrong with you? Come
in here!"
It was Tennelly who hauled him into Bill Ward's room and thumped him
into a big leather study-chair.
"Why, man, you're all in! Give an account of yourself!" he said, tossing
his hat over to Bill Ward, and pulling away at his mackinaw.
"P'raps he's in love!" suggested Pat from the couch where he was puffing
away at his pipe.
"P'raps he's flunked his Greek exam.," suggested Bill Ward, with a grin.
"He looks as if he'd seen a ghost!" said Tennelly, eying him critically.
"Cut it out, boys," said Courtland, with a weary smile. "I've seen
enough. Wittemore's called home. His mother's dying. I went an errand
for him down in some of his slums and on the way back I just saw a
little kid get killed. Pretty little kid, too, with long curls!"
"_Good night nurse!_" said Pat from his couch. "Say, that is going
some!"
"Ferget it!" ejaculated Bill Ward, coming to his feet. "Had your supper
yet, Court?"
Courtland shook his head.
"Well, just you sit still there while I run down to the pie-shop and see
what I can get."
Bill seized his cap and mackinaw and went roaring off down the hall.
Courtland's eyes were closed. He hadn't felt so tired since he left the
hospital. His mind was still grappling with the questions that his last
two hours had flung at him to be answered.
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