"About those doctors--what they said."

"Why, they said all sorts of things, Keith. You heard them yourself."
The man spoke lightly, still cheerily.

"Oh, yes, they said all sorts of things, but they didn't say anything
PARTICULAR before me. They always talked to you soft and low on one
side. I want to know what they said then."

"Why, really, Keith, they---"

"Dad," interposed the boy a bit tensely, when his father's hesitation
left the sentence unfinished, "you might just as well tell me. I know
already it isn't good, or you'd have told me right away. And if it's
bad--I might just as well know it now, 'cause I'll have to know it
sometime. Dad, what did they say? Don't worry. I can stand it--honest,
I can. I've GOT to stand it. Besides, I've been expecting it--ever so
long. 'Keith, you're going to be blind.' I wish't you'd say it right
out like that--if you've got to say it."

But the man shuddered and gave a low cry.

"No, no, Keith, never! I'll not say it. You're not going to be blind!"

"But didn't they say I was?"

"They said--they said it MIGHT be. They couldn't tell yet." The man
wet his lips and cleared his throat huskily. "They said--it would be
some time yet before they could tell, for sure. And even then, if it