"I AM all right. Just kind of tired."

The voice took on a cooing note. "Is my Joey tired? Then he
shall be all comfy on the sofa, and he doesn't need to play if he
don't want to. No, sir."

Jo stood staring at the black mouthpiece of the telephone. He
was seeing a procession go marching by. Boys, hundreds of boys,
in khaki.

"Hello! Hello!" The voice took on an anxious note. "Are you
there?"

"Yes," wearily.

"Jo, there's something the matter. You're sick. I'm coming
right over."

"No!" "Why not? You sound as if you'd been sleeping. Look
here----"

"Leave me alone!" cried Jo, suddenly, and the receiver clacked
onto the hook. "Leave me alone. Leave me alone." Long after
the connection had been broken.

He stood staring at the instrument with unseeing eyes. Then he
turned and walked into the front room. All the light had gone
out of it. Dusk had come on. All the light had gone out of
everything. The zest had gone out of life. The game was