"he must have written home about it himself."

"No, or if he did, I didn't hear of it. Go on," Gerald said in a muffled
voice.

A great rush of compassion and remorse overwhelmed the Virginian, and he
burst out penitently, "What a brute I am! I'm always forgetting and
running on about flying, when I know it must hurt like the very devil!"

The other drew a difficult breath. "Yes," he admitted, "what you say
does hurt in a way--in a way you can't understand. But all the same I
like to hear you. Go on about Chev."

So Skipworth went on and finished his account, winding up, "I don't
believe there's another man in the service who could have pulled it
off--but I tell you your brother's one in a million."

"Good God, don't I know it!" the other burst out. "We were all three the
jolliest pals together," he got out presently in a choked voice, "Chev
and the young un and I; and now--"

He did not finish, but Cary guessed his meaning. Now the young un,
Curtin, was dead, and Gerald himself knocked out. But, heavens! the
Virginian though, did Gerald think Chev would go back on him now on
account of his blindness? Well, you could everlastingly bet he wouldn't!

"Chev thinks the world and all of you!" he cried in eager defense of his
friend's loyalty. "Lots of times when we're all awfully jolly together,
he makes some excuse and goes off by himself; and Withers told me it was
because he was so frightfully cut up about you. Withers said he told him