“Poor Pug,” said Larry at last. “Did it ever strike you, Kentuck, what a queer quartette of chums we were, Billy Simson and Pug and you and me?” “Yes, mighty queer, come to think of it,” agreed Kentucky. “And the game handed it out pretty rough for the lot of us--Billy and Pug killed, you like this, and me ...” and he had lifted the stump of a hand bound about with black silk bandages and showing nothing but a thumb and the stump of a finger. “And I figure that out of the lot yours is maybe the worst.” “I don’t know,” said Larry slowly. “I’m well enough off, after all, with a good home and my people asking nothing better than to have the looking after of me. I always think Billy had the hardest luck to be hit again just as he was coming out of it all with a safe and cushy one.” “Anyway,” said Kentucky, “it’s a sure thing I came out best. I’m crippled, of course, but I’m not right out of action, and can still play a little hand in the game.” “That’s right,” said Larry heartily. “You’re fit enough to tackle the job in his office in my place that the Pater’s so keen to have you take--and as I am, selfishly, because the offer carries the condition that you live with us. I hope you’ve decided to sign on with the firm?” “I’m going to tell your father to-night,” said Kentucky very slowly. “But I’m glad to have the chance to tell you first. I asked him to give me a day to think it over because I wanted to know first if I’d a good-enough reason for refusing----” “Refusing,” Larry said, and almost cried the word. “When I went out this morning,” said Kentucky quietly, “I went to the Red Cross people and had a talk with Kendrick. I showed him I was fit enough for the job and he asked me if I’d take an ambulance car to drive up front.” Larry stared at him. “Up front again,” he gasped. “Haven’t you had enough of the front?” “More than enough,” said Kentucky gravely. “I’m not going because I like it, any more than I did in the first place. It’s just because I think I ought to play out the game.” “God,” said Larry. “As if you hadn’t done enough. You’ve got your discharge as unfit. Who would ever blame you for not going back, or dream you ought to go?” “Only one man,” said Kentucky with the glimmer of a smile, “but one that counts a smart lot with me; and he’s--myself.” “But it’s nonsense,” said Larry desperately. “Why, it’s not even as if you were one of us. After all, you’re American, and this country has no claim, never had a claim, on you. You’ve done more than your share already. There isn’t an earthly reason why you should go again.”