"That'll do," he said, and lent a hand while Lane put on his clothes.
It was then he noticed Lane's medal.

"Ha! The _Croix de Guerre!_... Daren, I was a friend of your
father's. I _know_ how that medal would have made him feel. Tell me
what you did to get it?"

"Nothing much," replied Lane, stirred. "It was in the Argonne, when we
took to open fighting. In fact I got most of my hurts there.... I
carried a badly wounded French officer back off the field. He was a
heavy man. That's where I injured my spine. I had to run with him. And
worse luck, he was dead when I got him back. But I didn't know that."

"So the French decorated you, hey?" asked the doctor, leaning back
with hands on hips, and keenly eyeing Lane.

"Yes."

"Why did not the American Army give you equal honor?"

"Well, for one thing it was never reported. And besides, it wasn't
anything any other fellow wouldn't do."

Doctor Bronson dropped his head and paced to and fro. Then the
door-bell rang in the reception room.

"Daren Lane," began the doctor, suddenly stopping before Lane, "I'd
hesitate to ask most men if they wanted the truth. To many men I'd
lie. But I know a few words from me can't faze you."