He runs at night to libraries until I should think he'd go insane.

And his body can't stand it, he's breaking down--though whenever I ask him how he feels, he always says, 'Fine, thank you.'" Here Roger turned to Allan.

"I wish you'd take the boy," he said, "to the finest specialist in town, and see what can be done for his spine.

I'll pay any price." "There won't be any price," said Allan, "but I'll see to it at once." He had John examined the same week.
"Well ?" asked Roger when next they met.
"Well," said Baird, "it isn't good news." "You mean he's hopeless ?" Allan nodded: "It's Pott's disease, and it's gone too far.

John is eighteen.