with waving people, that should have welcomed disabled soldiers who
had fought for their country? Lane hoped he had long passed by
bitterness, but yet something rankled in the unhealed wound of his
heart.

Some one put a hand in close clasp upon his arm. Then Lane heard the
scrape of a crutch on the deck, and knew who stood beside him.

"Well, Dare, old boy, does it look good to you?" asked a husky voice.

"Yes, Blair, but somehow not just what I expected," replied Lane,
turning to his comrade.

"Uhuh, I get you."

Blair Maynard stood erect with the aid of a crutch. There was even a
hint of pride in the poise of his uncovered head. And for once Lane
saw the thin white face softening and glowing. Maynard's big brown
eyes were full of tears.

"Guess I left my nerve as well as my leg over there," he said.

"Blair, it's so good to get back that we're off color," returned Lane.
"On the level, I could scream like a madman."

"I'd like to weep," replied the other, with a half laugh.

"Where's Red? He oughtn't miss this."

"Poor devil! He sneaked off from me somewhere," rejoined Maynard.