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When I came back they said the boy had refused to let anyone into the room. "You can't come in," he said. "You mustn't get what I have." I went up to him and found him in exactly the position I had left him, white-faced, but with the tops of his cheeks flushed by the fever, staring still, as he had stared, at the foot of the bed. I took his temperature. "What is it?" "Something like a hundred," I said. It was one hundred and two and four tenths. "It was a hundred and two," he said. "Who said so?" "The doctor." "Your temperature is all right," I said. "It's nothing to worry about." "I don't worry," he said, "but I can't keep from thinking." "Don't think," I said. "Just take it easy." "I'm taking it easy," he said and looked straight-ahead. He was holding tight on to himself about something. I sat down and opened the Pirate Book. But I could see he was not following, so I stopped. "About what time do you think I'm going to die?" he asked. "You aren't going to die. What's the matter with you?"