to the baby."

He looked uncomfortable, almost guilty.

"I had a day off. I--"

"When I look back and remember how all these months I've been talking
about service, and you said nothing at all, and all the time you were
living what I preached--I'm so ashamed, K."

He would not allow that. It distressed him. She saw that, and tried to
smile.

"When does Joe go?"

"To-night. I'm to take him across the country to the railroad. I was
wondering--"

"Yes?"

"I'd better explain first what happened, and why it happened. Then if
you are willing to send him a line, I think it would help. He saw a girl
in white in the car and followed in his own machine. He thought it was
you, of course. He didn't like the idea of your going to Schwitter's.
Carlotta was taken ill. And Schwitter and--and Wilson took her upstairs
to a room."

"Do you believe that, K.?"

"I do. He saw Max coming out and misunderstood. He fired at him then."

"He did it for me. I feel very guilty, K., as if it all comes back to
me. I'll write to him, of course. Poor Joe!"

He watched her go down the hall toward the night nurse's desk. He would
have given everything just then for the right to call her back, to take
her in his arms and comfort her. She seemed so alone. He himself had
gone through loneliness and heartache, and the shadow was still on him.
He waited until he saw her sit down at the desk and take up a pen. Then
he went back into the quiet room.

He stood by the bedside, looking down. Wilson was breathing quietly: his
color was coming up, as he rallied from the shock. In K.'s mind now was
just one thought--to bring him through for Sidney, and then to go away.
He might follow Joe to Cuba. There were chances there. He could do
sanitation work, or he might try the Canal.

The Street would go on working out its own salvation. He would have
to think of something for the Rosenfelds. And he was worried about
Christine. But there again, perhaps it would be better if he went away.
Christine's story would have to work itself out. His hands were tied.

He was glad in a way that Sidney had asked no questions about him, had
accepted his new identity so calmly. It had been overshadowed by the
night tragedy. It would have pleased him if she had shown more interest,
of course. But he understood. It was enough, he told himself, that he
had helped her, that she counted on him. But more and more he knew in
his heart that it was not enough. "I'd better get