Frank Corson got what was possibly the greatest shock of his life when he walked into Ward Five and saw William Matson lying in bed. It wasn't so much that he hadn't expected it. He had, because he was too firmly locked in reality to believe the man he saw on the Upper East Side could possibly have been the broken-legged Matson. Still, seeing Matson in bed had the effect of bringing unreality into a realm where he had to cope with it. Perhaps, during the trip back to the hospital, he'd been mystically apprised of what lay ahead and wanted subconsciously to avoid it. Perhaps his shock was a cringing away from facing a problem. At the moment, of course, he didn't know what the problem was. There was a mystery here, but only that, and his first thought was to report it to higher authority--the business about the two hearts--and have it investigated. With this thought in mind, he walked down the corridor and reached for the knob of the door marked _Superintendent_. But quite suddenly he stopped, reversed himself, and went back to Ward Five. He approached Matson's bed and looked down at him. Matson, empty of expression, stared back, and again Frank Corson sensed rather than saw the emptiness behind the eyes. "How are you feeling?" "I feel very--well." "It wasn't a bad break. How would you like to leave the hospital?" "I would like to leave the--hospital." Frank felt an odd, inner frustration. What in the devil was wrong with the man? He sounded like a child just learning the language. Yet there was nothing else to indicate backwardness. He looked pretty much like a self-sufficient, self-contained adult. "I can sign you out--get you a pair of crutches. By the way, I don't think the hospital got your home address." "My home--address?" "Yes. The place you live." There was a pause, and finally Frank realized the man wasn't going to answer. "Your home, man. Where you live." "I'm looking for a--home." "Oh, I see. New in town?" "Yes, new in--town." "I have a place," Frank said, and it seemed to him as though someone else were talking from within him--that he was only a listener. "You can crowd in with me until you get settled somewhere." "I can crowd in with--you?" "Okay?" "Okay." "Fine, I'll see that you're signed out. Ever walk on crutches before?" "I never walked on--crutches." "Nothing much to it. You'll get the knack." Frank left the bed and headed toward the office, asking himself as he went, _Why in hell did I do that?_ Then he found the reason--or at least a reason that would suffice. The discovery of a man with two hearts might be worth something. At least, it would put Frank Corson, unknown intern, into the spotlight for a while. This was pretty vague thinking but it made a kind of sense and Frank settled for it in lieu of trying to analyze the strange compulsion, the odd foreboding deep within him. _Here's a thing that might do me some good_, he told himself. _Why not take advantage of it?_