that's not his fault. That's how the whole
blame thing began. Gosh, I wish I had some of Bill Daly's sand!"

He had begun to feel a little drowsy. The clock struck one and he was
murmuring "a little . . . of . . . Bill . . . Daly's . . . 'sand' . . .
Bill . . . Daly's . . . sand . . . sand . . . . sand . . . . . . .
sand!" And off he fell into the land of nod.

Chapter III

Comrades

It was full daylight when Bill Daly opened his eyes the next morning. On
all sides of him were beds. Nurses and doctors were walking noiselessly
up and down the ward. He did not know what to make of it. He had never
been in a hospital before, even as a visitor. He had to make an effort
to collect his thoughts.

O yes! the fire. That shaky ladder. The woman and the child at the
window crying for help. His quick ascent up the ladder. The
adjustment--a sudden sensation of dizziness--and then! Yes, he must have
fallen.

Just then he moved his arm a bit, and a moan issued from his distorted
mouth. He knew now--who he was and what had happened. He changed the
position of his head and a groan escaped him. He moved his body ever so
little, and pain shot all through it. "Oh, Oh, Oh," he groaned. After
that, for a moment, he lay as quiet as possible. "O, I'm a girl, all
right," he told himself. "What am I groaning about? I'll bet Mulvy would
take his medicine. That's 'some' boy, Mulvy. Never grunted once, and I
hit him all over. O for a little of his 'sand.'"

Just then he moved his arm again, and another moan escaped him. A nurse,
passing by, heard him.

"That's all right, little man," she said, "it's painful, but no broken
bones; you'll be on your feet soon." Bill shut his jaw tight. His
suffering recalled to his mind a story one of the Sisters had told the
class a few years previously, of a little boy led into the Roman
Amphitheatre to be tortured for the Faith. They made him hold burning
coals in his hands and told him that if he dropped them he was giving
incense to the idols. He held the coals until they burned right through
his hand. A martyr. His picture was hanging on the wall of the class
room. An angel was placing a crown on his head and he looked--happy!

"I've been a pretty tough nut," Bill soliloquized, "guess this is my
punishment. That martyr kid didn't do any harm. I've done a lot. The
fellows aren't a bad set. They gave me a pretty good show. They didn't
butt in on the fight. What grit that Mulvy has! I'd have giv