"Stop playing cynic. We don't need people to tell civilization that it has a dirty back yard or a few rotten beams in the cellar. What we need is a few men with ideals to tell us how to clean up the yard and how to bolster the rotten stringers. Set your sights on some goal, and then settle down to work for it."

Dave groaned. "How do you start settling down after thirty-five years of hell-raising?"

"Do you want to know?"

"I've often wanted to know."

"Get married, Dave."

"Who'd have me?"

"I would. Marry me, Dave."

"Lord, no!" he exploded.

"I expected a refusal," she said softly. "I didn't expect quite such a vigorous rejection."

"I'm not rejecting you," he said earnestly. "You're a fine woman, Jane."

"Who was she?" Jane asked.

"She? Who?"

"The girl that broke your heart."

Dave laughed. "I'm not carrying any torch," he told her. He leaned on one elbow and looked down at her. The starlight was faint, but he could see her well enough. "In fact, Jane, under other circumstances I might get quite soft-headed about you."

"Then why not?"

He flopped back and stared at the sky. "Jane, you've accused me of being brave. This is damned foolishness. I'm not brave. I've got about six months to live, and I'm told the end will not be pleasant. I'd prefer to go black in a hurry, doing something that couldn't be done by a man with his life ahead of him. That isn't bravery; it's just cutting clean the end of a well-frayed rope."

"Who says so?" demanded Jane.

"The famous Dr. Thomas Meteridge."

"He might be wrong."

Crandall chuckled. "He's seldom 

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