“You ARE late. Where have you been?” his mother asked.
“The train was late,” he replied, muffled in the sheet. “Yes; that miserable Central! Is Newton come?”
“Yes.”
“I’m sure you must be hungry, and they’ve kept dinner waiting.”
With a wrench he looked up at her.
“What is it, mother?” he asked brutally.
She averted her eyes as she answered:
“Only a bit of a tumour, my boy. You needn’t trouble. It’s been there — the lump has — a long time.”
Up came the tears again. His mind was clear and hard, but his body was crying.
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