Dislocation of the knee was the young man's malady, just a sharp, swift rush at cricket, a slip on the dry grass, and Pat O'Shaughnessy shuddered every time he thought of the hours and days which followed that fall. He had asked to be taken home, for the tiny flat was a new possession, and as such dear to his heart. And to his home they carried him, and there he had lain already for longer than he cared to think. He had progressed to the point when he had been able to dismiss an excellent but uncongenial nurse, and manage with an hour's assistance morning and night; and what with reading the newspapers, smoking his pipe, and writing an occasional letter the first part of the day passed quickly enough. Lunch was served at one o'clock on a papier-mache tray spread with a crumpled tray cloth. It was a tepid, tasteless, unappetising meal, for the working housekeeper knew neither how to work nor to cook, and Pat invariably sent it away almost untasted; yet every day he looked forward afresh to the advent of one o'clock and the appearance of the tray. It was something to happen, something to do, a change from the reading, of which he was already getting tired. But, after lunch, after he had wakened from the short siesta; and realised that it was not yet three o'clock, and that six, seven hours still remained to be lived through before he could reasonably hope to settle for the night--that was a dreary time indeed, and Pat, whose interests lay all outdoors, knew no means of lightening it. For the first week of his confinement Pat had had a string of visitors. The members of his cricket team had appeared to express sympathy and encouragement; some of the men against whom he had been playing had also put in an appearance; "fellows" had come up from "the office," but in the busy life of London a man who goes _on_ being ill is apt to find himself left alone before many weeks have passed. There was only one man who never failed to put in an appearance at some hour of the day, and on that man's coming Pat O'Shaughnessy this afternoon concentrated every power in his possession. "They say if you wish hard enough you can make a fellow do what you like. If there's any truth in it, Glynn ought to come along pretty soon. How am I going to lie here all afternoon and stare at those miserable matches? That wretched woman might be buying the town ... wish to goodness she'd fetch something fit to eat. If that doctor fellow won't tell me to-morrow how much longer I have to lie here, I'll--I'll get up and walk, just to spite him!" Pat jerked defiantly and immediately gave a groan of pain. Not much chance of walking yet awhile!