“Dear, optimistic little liars,” said the doctor afterward, “I just couldn’t stand it. I pulled the body off the pile on which it lay, put it on the table, and worked like a horse over it for thirty minutes. And when the poor little chest made a few pitifully gasping sounds under my efforts, the expression of joy and hope on the faces of those lads was wonderful to see. “And when through sheer fatigue I at last gave up the self imposed task that I knew was hopeless at the beginning, one of the boys approached me and tearfully whispered, ‘Please, doctor, won’t you tell me your name? We want to see that you get paid for trying to save our little friend. You did just the best you could.’ “And,” said the doctor, “I couldn’t answer him as I would have done had he been grown up. The poor boy would not have understood. I just choked up and sputtered, ‘See you again, by and by, my boy, I’m in a hurry now.’ “Just think,” concluded the doctor, “here was a _rara avis_--a dead person’s friend who thought a doctor should be rewarded for doing the best he could.” And when I heard the story I said, “Old fellow, that boy’s sentiments were awfully out of place, but who shall say that they were out of tune?” There are many book-made heroes, but few of real flesh and blood. There was one among the injured ones who were brought in unconscious and laid upon the tables at that restaurant. He was a boy of some twelve or fourteen years of age. He remained unconscious for fully half an hour. Just as the doctors were about to give him up as hopeless, he began to revive, and was soon out of danger. Several policemen approached him. “What’s your name, sonny?” asked one of the officers. “I won’t tell you my name,” replied the boy. “Yes, but you _must_ tell me your name.” “But I won’t do it, so there now,” and the boy set his teeth defiantly. Curious to know why the boy objected to telling who he was, I motioned the officers aside and asked quietly, “Why don’t you give the policemen your name, my boy?” “’Cause,” replied the boy, “if I do, my pa and my ma’ll hear about my bein’ hurt an’ it’ll scare ’em most to death.” And the boy would not be cajoled until I told him the only way to prevent shock to his parents was to notify them that he was safe. He grasped the situation and smiled happily as he gave his name and started for the ambulance. Ah, Jimmy Kerwin, you are a thoroughbred, if ever there was one. But why recall all the details of that frightful disaster--the most awful experience I have ever met with. Have I not told enough to justify the indignation that filled me when I saw the Death’s head and read those heartless legends? * * * * *