in the front door. Evidently Bill hung up his coat and stood in the hall while he talked to himself:
"You wouldn't say it could happen! You wouldn't"
Billy trod heavily to his room where he moved about, talking to himself. Gregg got up and opened the door from the bathroom into Billy's.
"How's Mr. Hale, Bill?"
Billy had been undressing while he walked about; he had his coat and waistcoat off and his collar in his hand when he turned. If Gregg had not known that Billy never drank, he must have supposed him drunk from the redness of his face and of his bloodshot eyes.
"Oh! You here, Gregg?" He did not add verbally, but he might as well have said, that he had forgotten all about Gregg. "We took Mr. Hale to a hospital, Gregg. A private one; Fursten's."
"Yes," said Gregg. "I know. I saw you start; what happened when you got there?"
"Oh, Doctor Grantham operated. It was successful, they think. They got the bullet. Probably Mr. Hale will live."
"That's good," said Gregg.
"Good?" Billy repeated. "I suppose so. Poor Marjorie! And Mrs. Hale, Gregg!"
"Oh, what about her, Bill? What have you told her? You took Marjorie home, of course."
Billy stared absently at Gregg and then nodded. "She was in her room, Mrs. Hale was; gone to bed but awake. She hadn't expected Marjorie earlier. We passed the club on the way; people were still dancing."
"Then Marjorie didn't see her mother?"
"Just called good night to her and she went to her room, Marjorie did. I waited downstairs; I heard her."
