"Feel better?"

"I--think so."

"Good. Now, look here. How much does your hand mean to you?"

"How much does it mean?" repeated Allison, pitifully. "It means life,
career--everything."

"Enough to make a fight for it then, I take it."

Dull colour surged by waves into Allison's white face. "What do you
mean?" he asked, in a broken voice. "Tell me what you mean!"

But the young man was removing his coat. "Hot day," he was saying, "and
the young lady won't mind my negligee as long as the braces don't show.
Strange--how women hate nice new braces. Say," he said to the nurse as
she returned, "get somebody to go up to the station and bring down my
trunk, will you?"

"Trunk?" echoed Allison.

"Sure," smiled the young man. "My instructions were to stay if I saw any
hope, so I brought along my trunk. I'm always looking for a chance to
hope, and I've discovered that it's one of the very best ways to find
it."

The nurse had hastened away upon her errand. The new element in the
atmosphere of the sick room had subtly affected her, also.