'Doc.' Gordon

  Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Josephine Paolucci, JoshuaHutchinson and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team.

  Doctor Gordon * * * had not even taken off his overcoat,which was white with snow. Page 104.]

  "Doc." Gordon

  By

  MARY E. WILKINS-FREEMAN

  Author of

  "_The Debtor," "A Humble Romance," "The Heart's Highway," "Pembroke,"Etc._

  Illustrated in Water-Colors by FRANK T. MERRILL

  Copyright, 1906, by Mary E. Wilkins-Freeman

  H.L. MOORESPECIAL EDITION,For Sale exclusively by us in Rahway, N.J.

  NEW YORK AND LONDONTHE AUTHORS AND NEWSPAPERS ASSOCIATION1906

  COPYRIGHT, 1906, BYMARY E. WILKINS-FREEMAN.

  _Entered at Stationers' Hall.All rights reserved_.

  Composition and Electrotyping byJ.J. Little & Co.Printed and bound byManhattan Press, New York.

  (FACSIMILE PAGE OF MANUSCRIPT FROM DOC. GORDON)]

  "DOC." GORDON

  CHAPTER I

  It was very early in the morning, it was scarcely dawn, when the youngman started upon a walk of twenty-five miles to reach Alton, where hewas to be assistant to the one physician in the place, Doctor ThomasGordon, or as he was familiarly called, "Doc." Gordon. The young man'sname was James Elliot. He had just graduated, and this was to be hisfirst experience in the practice of his profession of medicine. He wasin his twenties. He was small, but from the springiness of his gait andthe erectness of his head he gave an impression of height. He was verygood-looking, with clearly-cut features, and dark eyes, in which shone,like black diamonds, sparks of mischief. They were honest eyes, too. Theyoung fellow was still sowing his wild oats, but more with his handsthan with his soul. He was walking because of a great amount of restlessenergy; he fairly revelled in stretching his legs over the country roadin the keen morning air. The train service between Gresham, his homeplace, and Alton was very bad, necessitating two changes and waits ofhours, and he had fretted at the prospect. When a young man is about tobegin his career, he does not wish to sit hours in dingy little railroadstations on his way toward it. It was much easier, and pleasanter, towalk, almost run to it, as he was doing now. His only baggage was hislittle medicine-case; his trunk had gone by train the day before. He wasvery well dressed, his clothes had the cut of a city tailor. He wasalmost dandified. His father was well-to-do: a successful peach-groweron a wholesale scale. His great farm was sprayed over every spring withdelicate rosy garlands of peach blossoms, and in the autumn the treeswere heavy with the almond-scented fruit. He had made a fortune, andaside from that had achieved a certain local distinction. He was thenmayor of Gresham, which had a city government. James was very proud ofhis father and fond of him. Indeed, he had reason to be. His father haddone everything in his power for him, given him a good education, andsupplied him liberally with money. James had always had a sense ofplenty of money, which had kept him from undue love of it. He was nowbeginning the practice of his profession, in a small way, it is true,but that he recognized as expedient. "You had better get acclimated,become accustomed to your profession in a small place, before you launchout in a city," his father had said, and the son had acquiesced. It wasthe natural wing-trying process before large flights were attempted, andthe course commended itself to his reason. James, as well as his father,had good reasoning power. He whistled to himself as he walked along. Hewas very happy. He had a sensation as of one who has his goal in sight.He thought of his father, his mother, and his two younger sisters, butwith no distress at absenting himself from them, although he lived inaccord with his family. Twenty-five miles to his joyous youth seemed butas a step across the road. He had no sense of separation. "What istwenty-five miles?" he had said laughingly to his mother, when she hadkissed him good-by. He had no conception of her state of mind withregard to the break in the home circle. He who was the breaker did noteven see the break. Therefore he walked along, conscious of an immensejoy in his own soul, and wholly unconscious of anything except joy inthe souls of those whom he had left behind. It was a glorious morning, awhite morning. The ground was covered with white frost, the trees, thehouse-roofs, the very air, were all white. In the west a transparentmoon was slowly sinking; the east deepened with red and violet tints.Then came the sun, upheaving above the horizon like a ship of glory, andall the whiteness burned, and glowed, and radiated jewel-lights. Jameslooked about with the delight of a discoverer. It might have been hisfirst morning. He begun to meet men going to their work, swinging tindinner-pails. Even these humble pails became glorified, they gave backthe sunlight like burnished silver. He smelled the odors of breakfastupon the men's clothes. He held up his head high with a sort ofgood-humored arrogance as he passed. He would have fought to the deathfor any one of these men, but he knew himself, quite innocently, uponsuperior heights of education, and trained thought, and ambition. He meta man swinging a pail; he was coughing: a wretched, long rattle of acough. James stopped him, opened his little medicine-case, and producedsome pellets.

  "Here, take one of these every hour until the cough is relieved, myfriend," said he.

  The man stared, swallowed a pellet, stared again, in an odd, suspicious,surly fashion, muttered something unintelligible and passed on.

  There were three villages between Gresham and Alton: Red Hill,Stanbridge, and Westover. James stopped in Red Hill at a quick-lunchwagon, which was drawn up on the principal street under the lee of thetown hall, went in, ordered and ate with relish some hot frankfurters,and drank some coffee. He had eaten a plentiful breakfast beforestarting, but the keen air had created his appetite anew. Beside him atthe counter sat a young workingman, also eating frankfurters anddrinking coffee. Now and then he gave a sidelong and supercilious glanceat James's fine clothes. James caught one of the glances, and laughedgood-naturedly.

  "These quick-lunch wagons are a mighty good idea," said he.

  The man grunted and took a swallow of coffee.

  "Where do you work?" asked James.

  "None of your d---- business!" retorted the other man unexpectedly."Where do you work yourself?"

  James stared at him, then he burst into a roar. For a second the man'ssurly mouth did not budge, then the corners twitched a little.

  "What in thunder are you mad about?" inquired James. "I am going to workfor Doctor Gordon in Alton, and I don't care a d---- where you work."James spoke with the most perfect good nature, still laughing.

  Then the man's face relaxed into a broad grin. "Didn't know but you wereputtin' on lugs," said he. "I am about tired of all those damnedbenefactors comin' along and arskin' of a man whot's none of theirbusiness, when a man knows all the time they don't care nothin' aboutit, and then makin' a man take somethin' he don't want, so as to gettheir names in the papers." The man sniffed a sniff of fury, then hishandsome blue eyes smiled pleasantly, even with mischievous confidenceinto James's, and he swallowed more coffee.

  "I am no benefactor, you can bet your life on that," said James. "Idon't mean to give you anything you want or don't want."

  "Didn't know but you was one of that kind," returned the man.

  "Why?"

  The man eyed James's clothes expressively.

  "Oh, you mean my clothes," said James. "Well, this suit and overcoat arepretty fair, but if I were a benefactor I should be wearing seedyclothes, and have my wallet stuffed with bills for other folks."

  "You bet you wouldn't," said the other man. "That ain't the waybenefactors go to work. What be you goin' to do at Doc Gordon's?"

  "Drive," replied James laconically.

  "Guess you can't take care of hosses in no sech togs as them."

  "I've got some others. I'm going to learn to doctor a little, too, if Ican."

  The man surveyed him, then he burst into a great lau
gh. "Well," said he,"when I git the measles I'll call you in."

  "All right," said James, "I won't charge you a red cent. I'll doctor youand all your children and your wife for nothing."

  "Guess you won't need to charge nothin' for the wife and kids, seein' asI ain't got none," said the man. "Ketch me saddled up with a woman an'kids, if I know what I'm about. Them's for the benefactors. I live in alittle shanty I rigged up myself out of two packin' boxes. I've got 'emon a man's medder here. He let me squat for nothin'. I git my mealshere, an' I work on the railroad, an' I've got a soft snap, with nobodyto butt in. Here, Mame, give us another cup of coffee. Mame's the girl Iwant, if I could hev one. Ain't you, Mame?"

  The girl, who was a blonde, with an exaggerated pompadour fastened withaggressive celluloid pins, smiled pertly. "Reckon I h'ain't no more usefor men than you hev for women," said she, as she poured the coffee. Allthat could be seen of her behind the counter was her head, and her waistclad in a red blouse, pinned so high to her skirt in the rear that italmost touched her shoulder blades. The blouse was finished at the neckwith a nice little turn-over collar fastened with a brooch set withimitation diamonds and sapphires.

  "Now, Mame, you know," said the man with assumed pathos, "that it isonly because I'm a poor devil that I don't go kerflop the minute I seteyes on you. But you wouldn't like to live in boxes, would you? Wouldyou now?"

  "Not till my time comes, and not in boxes, then, less I'm in a railroadaccident," replied the girl, with ghastly jocularity.

  "She's got another feller, or _you_ might git her if you've got a stiddyjob," the man said, winking at James with familiarity.

  "Just my luck," said James. He looked at the girl, and thought herpretty and pathetic, with a vulgar, almost tragic, prettiness andpathos. She was anaemic and painfully thin. Her blouse was puffed outover her flat chest. She looked worn out with the miserable littletediums of life, with constant stepping over ant-hills of stupidity andpetty hopelessness. Her work was not, comparatively speaking, arduous,but the serving of hot coffee and frankfurters to workingmen was notprogressive, and she looked as if her principal diet was the left-oversof the stock in trade. She seemed to exhale an odor of musty sandwichesand sausages and muddy coffee.

  The man swallowed his second cup in fierce gulps. He glanced at hisIngersoll watch. "Gee whiz!" said he. "It's time I was off! Good-by,Mame."

  The girl turned her head with a toss, and did not reply. "Good-by,"James said.

  The man grinned. "Good-by, Doc," he said. "I'll call you when I git themeasles. You're a good feller. If you'd been a benefactor I'd run youout."

  The man clattered down the steps of the gaudily painted littlestructure. The girl whom he had called Mame turned and looked at Jameswith a sort of innocent boldness. "He's a queer feller," she observed.

  "He seems to be."

  "He is, you bet. Livin' in a house he's built out of boxes when he makesbig money. He's on strike every little while. I wouldn't look at him.Don't know what he's drivin' at half the time. Reckon he's--" Shetouched her head significantly.

  "Lots of folks are," said James affably.

  "That's so." She stared reflectively at James. "I'm keepin' this quicklunch 'cause my father's sick," said she. "I see a lot of human naturein here."

  "I suppose you do."

  "You bet. Every kind gits in here first and last, tramps up to swellswho think they're doin' somethin' awful funny to git frankfurters andcoffee in here. They must be hard driv."

  "I suppose they are sometimes."

  Mame's eyes, surveying James, suddenly grew sharp. "You ain't one?" sheasked accusingly.

  "You bet not."

  Mame's grew soft. "I knew you were all right," said she. "Sometimes theysay things to me that their fine lady friends would bounce 'em for, butI knew the minute I saw you that you wasn't that kind if you be dressedup like a gent. Reckon you've been makin' big money in your last place."

  "Considerable," admitted James. He felt like a villain, but he had notthe heart to accuse himself of being a gentleman before this patheticgirl.

  Mame leaned suddenly over the counter, and her blonde crest nearlytouched his forehead. "Say," said she, in a whisper.

  "What?" whispered James back.

  "What he said ain't true. There ain't a mite of truth in it."

  "What he said," repeated James vaguely.

  Mame pouted. "How awful thick-headed you be," said she. "What he saidabout my havin' a feller." She blushed rosily, and her eyes fell.

  James felt his own face suffused. He pulled out his pocket-book, androse abruptly. "I'm sorry," he said with stupidity.

  The rosy flush died away from the girl's face. "Nobody asked you to besorry," said she. "I could have any one of a dozen I know if I jest heldout my little finger."

  "Of course, you could," James said. He felt apologetic, although he didnot know exactly why. He fumbled over the change, and at last made itright with a quarter extra for the girl.

  "It's a quarter too much," said she.

  "Keep it, please."

  She hesitated. She was frowning under her great blonde roll, her mouthlooked hurt.

  "What a fuss about a quarter," said James, with a laugh. "Keep it.That's a good girl."

  Mame took a dingy handkerchief out of the bosom of her blouse, untied acorner, and James heard a jingle of coins meeting. Then she laughed."You're an awful fraud," said she.

  "Why?"

  "You can't cheat me, if you did Bill Slattery."

  "I think I don't know what you mean."

  "You're a gent."

  The girl's thin, coarse laughter rang out after James as he descendedthe steps of the quick-lunch wagon. She opened the door directly afterhe had closed it, and stood on the top step with the cold wind agitatingher fair hair. "Say," she called after him.

  James turned as he walked away. "What is it?"

  "Nothin', only I was foolin' you, and so was Bill. I've got a feller,and Bill's him."

  "I'll make you a present when you're married," James called back with alaugh.

  "It's to come off next summer," cried the girl.

  "I won't forget," answered James. He knew the girl lied; that she wasnot about to marry the workingman. He said to himself, as he strode onrefreshed with his coarse fare, that girls were extraordinary: firstthey were bold to positive indecency, then modest to the borders ofinsanity.

  James walked on. He reached Stanbridge about noon. Then he was hungryagain. There was a good hotel there, and he made a substantial meal. Hehad a smoke and a rest of half an hour, then he resumed his walk. Hesoon passed the outskirts of Stanbridge, which was a small, old city,then he was in the country. The houses were sparsely set well back fromthe road. He met nobody, except an occasional countryman driving awood-laden team. Presently the road lay between stately groves of oaks,although now and then they stood on one side only of the highway. Nearlyall the oaks bore a shag of dried leaves about their trunks, like mossybeards of old men, only the shag was a bright russet instead of white.The ground under the oaks was like cloth-of-gold under the sun, thefallen leaves yet retained so much color. James heard a sharp croak,then a crow flew with wide flaps of dark wings across the road andperched on an oak bough. It cocked its head, and watched him wisely.James whistled at it, but it did not stir. It remained with its headcocked in that attitude of uncanny wisdom.

  Suddenly James saw before him the figure of a girl, moving swiftly. Shemust have come out of the wood. She went as freely as a woodland thing,although she was conventionally dressed in a tailor suit of brown. Herhat, too, was brown, and a brown feather curled over the brim. Shewalked fast, with evidently as much enjoyment of the motion as Jameshimself. They both walked like winged things.

  Suddenly James had a queer experience. One sense became transposed intoanother, as one changes the key in music. He heard absolutely nothing,but it was as if he saw a noise. He saw a man standing on the rightbetween him and the girl. The man had not made the slightest sound, hewas sure. James had good ears,
but sound and not sight was what betrayedhim, or rather sound transposed into sight. He stood as motionless as atree himself. James knew that he had been looking at the girl. Now shewas looking at him. James felt a long shudder creep over him. He hadnever been afraid of anything except fear. Now he was afraid of fear,and there was something about the man which awakened this terror, yet itwas inexplicable. He was a middle-aged man, and distinctly handsome. Hewas something above the medium height, and very well dressed. He wore afur-lined coat which looked opulent. He had gray hair and a blackmustache. There was nothing menacing in his face. He was, indeed,smiling a curious retrospective smile, as if at his own thoughts.Although his eyes regarded James attentively, this smiling mouth seemedentirely oblivious of him. The man gave an odd impression, as of twopersonalities: the one observant, with an animal-like observance for hisown weal or woe, the other observant with intelligence. It was possiblythis impression of a dual personality which gave James his quick senseof horror. He walked on, feeling his very muscles shrink. Just beforeJames reached the man he emerged easily, with not the slightestappearance of stealth, from the wood, and walked on before him with arapid, swinging stride. There were then three persons upon the road: thegirl in brown, the strange man in the fur-lined coat, and James Elliot.James quickened his pace, but the other man kept ahead of him, andreached the girl. He stopped and James broke into a run. He saw the manplace a hand upon the girl's shoulder, and make a motion as if to turnher face toward his. James came up with a shout, and the man disappearedabruptly, with a quick backward glance at James, into the wood.

  The girl looked at James, and her little face under her brown plumed hatwas very white. "Oh," she gasped, as if she had always known him, "I amso glad you are here! He frightened me terribly."

  She tried to smile at James, although her poor little mouth wasquivering. "Who was he?" she asked.

  "You don't think he will come back?" Page 21.]

  "I don't know."

  A sudden suspicion flashed into her eyes. "He wasn't with you?"

  "No. I saw him on the edge of the woods back there, and I didn't likehis looks. When he started to follow you I hurried to catch up."

  "Oh, thank you," said the girl fervently. "Do forgive me for asking ifyou were with him. I knew you were not the minute I saw you. I did notturn my face, although he tried to make me. I don't know why, but I doknow he was something terrible and wicked." The girl said this last witha shudder. She caught hold of James's arm innocently, as a frightenedchild might have done. "You don't think he will come back?"

  "No, and if he does I will take care of you."

  "He may be--armed."

  Suddenly the girl reeled. "Don't let me faint away. I won't faint away,"she said in an angry voice. James saw that she was actually biting herlips to overcome the faintness.

  "If you will sit down on that rock for a moment," said James, "I havesomething in my medicine-case which will revive you. I am a doctor."

  "I shall faint away if I sit down and give up to it, if I swallow yourwhole case," said the girl weakly. "I know myself. Let me hold your armand walk, and don't make me talk, then I can get over it." She wasbiting her lips almost to bleeding.

  James walked on as he was bidden, with the slender little brown-cladfigure clinging to him. He realized that he had fallen in with a girlwho had a will which was possibly superior to anything in hismedicine-case when it came to overcoming fright.

  They walked on until they came in sight of a farm-house, when the girlspoke again, and James saw that the color was returning to her face. "Iam all right now," said she, and withdrew her hand from his arm. Shegave her head an angry, whimsical shake. "I am ashamed of myself," saidshe, "but I was horribly frightened, and sometimes I do faint. I cangenerally get the better of myself, but sometimes I can't. It alwaysmakes me so angry. I do hope you don't think I am such an awful coward,because I am not."

  "I think most girls whom I have known would have made much more fussthan you did," said James. "You never screamed."

  "I never did scream in my life," said the girl. "I don't think I could.I don't know how. I think if I did scream, I should certainly faint."

  James stopped and opened his medicine-case. "I think you had better takejust a swallow of brandy," said he.

  The girl thrust back the bottle which he offered her with high disdain."Brandy," said she, "just because I have been frightened a little! Ishould be ashamed of myself if I did such a thing. I am ashamed now foralmost fainting away, but I should never forgive myself if I took brandybecause of it. If I haven't nerve enough to keep straight withoutbrandy, I should be a pretty poor specimen of a girl." She looked at himindignantly, and James saw what he had not seen before (he had been soengrossed with the strangeness of the situation), that she was abeautiful girl with a singular type of beauty. She was very small, butshe gave the impression of intense springiness and wiriness. Althoughshe was thin, no one could have called her delicate. She looked as muchalive as a flame, with nerves on the surface from head to heel. Her eyeswere blue, not large, but full of light, her hair, which tossed aroundher face in a soft fluff, was ash-blonde. Brown was the last color,theoretically, which she should have worn, but it suited her. The ashand brown, the two neutral tints, served to bring out the blue fire ofher eyes and the intense red of her lips. However, her beauty lay not somuch in her regular features as in the wonderful flame-like qualitywhich animated them, and which they assumed when she spoke or listened.In repose, her face was as neutral as a rock or dead leaf. It wasneither beautiful nor otherwise. When it was animated, it was as if therock gave out silver lights of mica and rosy crystal under strong light,and as if the dead leaf leapt into flame. James thought her muchprettier than any of his sisters or their friends, but he was led quiteunknowingly into this opinion, because of his own position as herprotector. That made him realize his own male gorgeousness and strength,and he really saw the girl with such complacency instead of himself.

  They walked along, and all at once he stopped short. Something occurredto him, which, strange to say, had not occurred before. He was not inthe least cowardly. He was brave almost to foolhardiness. All at onceit occurred to him that he ought to follow the man.

  "Good Lord!" said he and stopped.

  "What is the matter?" asked the girl.

  "Why, I must follow that man. He is a suspicious character. He ought notto be left at large."

  "I suppose you don't care if you leave me alone," said the girlaccusingly.

  James stared at her doubtfully. There was that view of the situation.

  "I am going to see my friend Annie Lipton, who lives in Westover. Thereis half a mile of lonely road before I get there. That man, for all Iknow, may be keeping sight of us in the woods over there. While you aregoing back to chase him, he may come up with me. Well, run along if youwant to. I am not afraid." But the girl's lips quivered, and she paledagain.

  James glanced at the stretch of road ahead. There was not a house insight. Woods were on one side, on the other was a rolling expanse ofmeadowland covered with dried last year's grass, like coarseoakum-colored hair.

  "I think I had better keep on with you," James said.

  "You can do exactly as you choose," the girl replied defiantly, buttremulously. "I am not in the least dependent upon men to escort me. Iwander miles around by myself. This is the first time I have seemed tobe in the slightest danger. I dare say there was no danger this time,only he came up behind like a cat, and--"

  "He didn't say anything?"

  "No, he didn't speak. He only tried to make me turn my head, so he couldsee my face, and directly it seemed to me that I must die rather thanlet him. He was trying to make me turn my head. I think maybe he was aninsane man."

  "I will go on with you," said James.

  They walked on for the half mile of which the girl had spoken. A suddenshyness seemed to have come over both of them. Then they began to comein sight of houses. "I am not afraid now," said the girl, "but I dothink you are very foolish if you g
o back alone and try to hunt thatman. Ten chances to one he is armed, and you haven't a thing to defendyourself with, except that medicine-case."

  "I have my fists," replied James indignantly.

  "Fists don't count much against a revolver."

  "Well, I am going to try," said James with emphasis.

  "Good-by, then. You are treating me shamefully, though."

  James stared at her in amazement. She was actually weeping, tears wererolling over her cheeks.

  "What do you mean?" said he. "Don't feel so badly."

  "You can't be very quick-witted not to see. If you should meet that man,and get killed, I should really be the one who killed you and not theman."

  "Why, no, you would not."

  The girl stamped her foot. "Yes, I should, too," said she, half-sobbing."You would not have been killed except for me. You know you would not."

  She spoke as if she actually saw the young man dead before her, and wasindignant because of it, and he burst into a peal of laughter.

  "Laugh if you want to," said she. "It does not seem to me any laughingmatter to go and get yourself killed by me, and my having that on mymind my whole life. I think I should go mad." Her voice shook, anexpression of horror came into her blue eyes.

  James laughed again. "Very well, then," he said, "to oblige you I won'tget killed."

  He, in fact, began to consider that the day was waning, and what awild-goose chase it would probably be for him to attempt to follow theman. So again they walked on until they reached the main street ofWestover.

  Westover was a small village, rather smaller than Gresham. They passedthree gin-mills, a church, and a grocery store. Then the girl stopped atthe corner of a side street. "My friend lives on this street," said she."Thank you very much. I don't know what I should have done if you hadnot come. Good-by!" She went so quickly that James was not at all surethat she heard his answering good-by. He thought again how very handsomeshe was. Then he began to wonder where she lived, and how she would gethome from her friend's house, if the friend had a brother who wouldescort her. He wondered who her friends were to let a girl like thatwander around alone in a State which had not the best reputation forsafety. He entertained the idea of waiting about until she left herfriend's house, then he considered the possible brother, and that thegirl herself might resent it, and he kept on. The western sky wasputting on wonderful tints of cowslip and rose deepening into violet. Hebegan considering his own future again, relegating the girl to thebackground. He must be nearing Alton, he thought. After a three-milestretch of farming country, he saw houses again. Lights were gleamingout in the windows. He heard wheels, and the regular trot of a horsebehind him, then a mud-bespattered buggy passed him, a shabby buggy, buta strongly built one. The team of horses was going at a good clip. Jamesstood on one side, but the team and buggy had no sooner passed than heheard a whoa! and a man's face peered around the buggy wing, not atJames, but at his medicine-case. James could just discern the face,bearded and shadowy in the gathering gloom. Then a voice came. Itshouted, one word, the expressive patois of the countryside, that wordwhich may be at once a question and a salute, may express almost anyemotion. "Halloo!" said the voice.

  This halloo involved a question, or so James understood it. He quickenedhis pace, and came alongside the buggy. The face, more distinct now,surveyed him, its owner leaning out over the side of the buggy. "Who areyou? Where are you bound?"

  James answered the latter question. "I am going to Alton."

  "To Doctor Gordon's?"

  "Yes."

  "Then you are Doctor Elliot?"

  "Yes."

  "Get in."

  James climbed into the buggy. The other man took up the reins, and thehorse resumed his quick trot.

  "You didn't come by train?" remarked the man.

  "No. You are Doctor Gordon, I suppose?"

  "Yes, I am. Why the devil did you walk?"

  "To save my money," replied James, laughing. He realized nothing to beashamed of in his reply.

  "But I thought your father was well-to-do."

  "Yes, he is, but we don't ride when it costs money and we can walk. Iknew if I got to Alton by night, it would be soon enough. I like towalk." James said that last rather defiantly. He began to realize acertain amazement on the other man's part which might amount to animputation upon his father. "I have plenty of money in my pocket," headded, "but I wanted the walk."

  Doctor Gordon laughed. "Oh, well, a walk of twenty-five miles is nothingto a young fellow like you, of course," he said. "I can understand thatyou may like to stretch your legs. But you'll have to drive if you areever going to get anywhere when you begin practice with me."

  "I suppose you have calls for miles around?"

  "Rather." Doctor Gordon sighed. "It's a dog's life. I suppose youhaven't got that through your head yet?"

  "I think it is a glorious profession," returned James, with his haughtyyoung enthusiasm.

  "I wasn't talking about the profession," said the doctor; "I was talkingof the man who has to grind his way through it. It's a dog's life.Neither your body nor your soul are your own. Oh, well, maybe you'lllike it."

  "You seem to," remarked James rather pugnaciously.

  "I? What can I do, young man, but stick to it whether I like it or not?What would they do? Yes, I suppose I am fool enough to like a dog'slife, or rather to be unwilling to leave it. No money could induce meanyhow. I suppose you know there is not much money in it?"

  James said that he had not supposed a fortune was to be made in acountry practice.

  "The last bill any of them will pay is the doctor's," said DoctorGordon. Then he added with a laugh, "especially when the doctor ismyself. They have to pay a specialist from New York, but I wait untilthey are underground, and the relatives, I find, stick faster to themonetary remains than the bark to a tree. If I hadn't a little privatefortune, and my--sister a little of her own, I expect we should starve."

  James noticed with a little surprise the doctor's hesitation before hespoke of his sister. It seemed then that he was not married. Somehow,James had thought of him as married as a matter of course.

  Doctor Gordon hastened to explain, as if divining the other's attitude."I dare say you don't know anything about my family relations," said he."My widowed sister, Mrs. Ewing, keeps house for me. I live with her andher daughter. I think you will like them both, and I think they willlike you, though I'll be hanged if I have grasped anything of you so farbut your medicine-case and your voice. Your voice is all right. You giveyourself away by it, and I always like that."

  James straightened himself a little. There was something bantering inthe other's tone. It made him feel young, and he resented being made tofeel young. He himself at that time felt older than he ever would feelagain. He realized that he was not being properly estimated. "If," saidhe, with some heat, "a patient can make out anything by my voice as towhat I think, I miss my guess."

  "I dare say not," said Doctor Gordon, and his own voice was as if he putthe matter aside.

  He spoke to the horse, whose trot quickened, and they went on insilence.

  At last James began to feel rather ashamed of himself. He unstiffened."I had quite an exciting and curious experience after I leftStanbridge," said he.

  "Did you?" said the other in an absent voice.

  James went on to relate the matter in detail. His companion turned anintent face upon him as he proceeded. "How far back was it?" he asked,and his tone was noticeably agitated.

  "Just after I left the last house in Stanbridge. We went on together toWestover. She mentioned something about going to see a friend there. Ithink Lipton was the name, and she left me suddenly."

  "What was the girl like?"

  "Small and slight, and very pretty."

  "Dressed in brown?"

  "Yes."

  "How did the man look?" Doctor Gordon's voice fairly alarmed the youngman.

  "I hardly can say. I saw him distinctly, but only for a second. Theimpression he gave me wa
s of a middle-aged man, although he lookedyoung."

  "Good-looking?"

  "My God, no!" said James, as the man's face seemed to loom up before himagain. "He looked like the devil."

  "A man may look like the devil, and yet be distinctly handsome."

  "Well, I suppose he was; but give me the homeliest face on earth ratherthan a face like that man's, if I must needs have anything to do withhim." The young fellow's voice broke. He was very young. He caught theother man by his rough coat sleeve. "See here, Doctor Gordon," said he,"my profession is to save life. That is the main end of it but, but--Idon't honestly know what I should think right, if I were asked to save_that_ man's life."

  "Was he well dressed?"

  "More than well dressed, richly, a fur-lined coat--"

  "Tall?"

  "Yes, above the medium, but he stooped a little, like a cat, sort ofstretched to the ground like an animal, when he hurried along after thegirl in front of me."

  Doctor Gordon struck the horse with his whip, and he broke into agallop. "We are almost home," said he. "I shall have to leave you withslight ceremony. I have to go out again immediately."

  Doctor Gordon had hardly finished speaking before they drew up in frontof a white house on the left of the road. "Get out," he saidperemptorily to James. The front door opened, and a parallelogram oflighted interior became visible. In this expanse of light stood a tallwoman's figure. "Clara, this is the new doctor," called out DoctorGordon. "Take him in and take care of him."

  "Have you got to go away again?" said the woman's voice. It was sweetand rich, but had a curious sad quality in it.

  "Yes, I must. I shall not be gone long. Don't wait supper."

  "Aren't you going to change the horse?"

  "Can't stop. Go right in, Elliot. Clara, look after him."

  James Elliot found himself in the house, confronting the most beautifulwoman he had ever seen, as the rapid trot of the doctor's horse recededin vistas of sound.

  James almost gasped. He had never seen such a woman. He had seen prettygirls. Now he suddenly realized that a girl was not a woman, and no moreto be compared with her than an uncut gem with one whose facets take theutmost light.

  The boy stood staring at this wonderful woman. She extended her hand tohim, but he did not see it. She said some gracious words of greeting tohim, but he did not hear them. She might have been the Venus de Milo forall he heard or realized of sentient life in her. He was rapt incontemplation of herself, so rapt that he was oblivious of her. Shesmiled. She was accustomed to having men, especially very young men,take such an attitude on first seeing her. She did not wait any longer,but herself took the young man's hand, and drew him gently into theroom, and spoke so insistently that she compelled him to leave her andattend. "I suppose you are Doctor Gordon's assistant?" she said.

  James relapsed into the tricks of his childhood. "Yes, ma'am," hereplied. Then he blushed furiously, but the woman seemed to noticeneither the provincial term nor his confusion. He found himself somehow,he did not know how, divested of his overcoat, and the vision haddisappeared, having left some words about dinner ringing in his ears,and he was sitting before a hearth-fire in a large leather easy-chair.Then he looked about the room in much the same dazed fashion in which hehad contemplated the woman. He had never seen a room like it. He wasused to conventionality, albeit richness, and a degree even of luxury.Here were absolute unconventionality, richness, and luxury of a kindutterly strange to him. The room was very large and long, extendingnearly the whole length of the house. There were many windows withEastern rugs instead of curtains. There were Eastern things hung on thewalls which gave out dull gleams of gold and silver and topaz andturquoise. There were a great many books on low shelves. There werebronzes, jars, and squat idols. There were a few pieces of Chinese ivorywork. There were many skins of lions, bears, and tigers on the floor,besides a great Persian rug which gleamed like a blurred jewel. Besidesthe firelight there was only one great bronze lamp to illuminate theroom. This lamp had a red shade, which cast a soft, fiery glow overeverything. There were not many pictures. The rich Eastern stuffs, andeven a skin or two of tawny hue, covered most of the wall-spaces abovethe book-cases, giving backgrounds of color to bronzes and ivorycarvings, but there was one picture at the farther end of the room whichattracted James's notice. All that he could distinguish from where hesat was a splash of splendid red.

  He gazed, and his curiosity grew. Finally he rose, traversed the room,and came close to the picture. It was a portrait of the woman who hadmet him at the door. The red was the red of a splendid robe of velvet.The portrait was evidently the work of no mean artist. The texture ofthe velvet was something wonderful, so were the flesh tones; but Jamesmissed something in the face. The portrait had been painted, he knewinstinctively, before some great change had come into the woman's heart,which had given her another aspect of beauty.

  James turned away. Then he noticed something else which seemed ratherodd about the room. All the windows were furnished with heavy woodenshutters, and, early as it was, hardly dark, all were closed, andfastened securely. James somehow got an impression of secrecy, that itwas considered necessary that no glimpse of the interior should beobtained from without after the lamp was lit. They sat often carelesslyat his own home of an evening with the shades up, and all the interiorof the room plainly visible from the road. An utter lack of secrecy wasin James's own character. He scowled a little, as he returned to hisseat by the fire. He was too confused to think clearly, but he wasconscious of a certain homesickness for the wonted things of his life,when the door opened and the woman reentered.

  James rose, and she spoke in her sweet voice. It was rather lowerpitched than the voices of most women, and had a resonant quality. "Yourroom is quite ready, Doctor Elliot," said she. "Your trunk is there. Ifyou would like to go there before dinner, I will pilot you. We have butone maid, and she is preparing the dinner, which will be ready as soonas you are. I hope Doctor Gordon and Clemency will have returned by thattime, too."

  By Clemency James understood that she meant her daughter, of whom DoctorGordon had spoken. He wondered at the unusual name, as he followed hishostess. His room was on the same floor as the living-room. She threwopen a door at the other side of the hall, and James saw an exceedinglycomfortable apartment with a hearth-fire, with book-shelves, and acouch-bed covered with a rug, and a desk. "I thought you would preferthis room," said the woman. "There are others on the second floor, butthis has the advantage of your being able to use it as a sitting-room,and you may like to have your friends, whom I trust you will find inAlton, come in from time to time. You will please make yourself quiteat home."

  James had not yet fairly comprehended the beauty of the woman. He wasstill too dazzled. Had he gone away at that time, he could not for thelife of him have described her, but he did glance, as a woman might havedone, at her gown. It was of a soft heavy red silk, trimmed with lace,and was cut out in a small square at the throat. This glimpse of firmwhite throat made James wonder as to evening costume for himself. Athome he never dreamed of such a thing, but here it might be different.His hostess divined his thoughts. She smiled at him as if he were achild. "No," said she, "you do not need to dress for dinner. DoctorGordon never does when we are by ourselves."

  Then she went away, closing the door softly after her.

  James noticed that over the windows of this room were only ordinaryshades, and curtains of some soft red stuff. There were no shutters. Helooked about him. He was charmed with his room, and it did away to agreat extent with his feeling of homesickness. It was not unlike whathis room at college had been. It was more like all rooms. He had nofeeling of the secrecy which the great living-room gave him, and whichirritated him. He brushed his clothes and his hair, and washed his handsand face. While he was doing so he heard wheels and a horse's fast trot.He guessed immediately that the doctor had returned. He therefore, assoon as he had completed the slight changes in his toilet, started toreturn to the living-room. Crossing the hall he
met Doctor Gordon, whoseized him by the shoulder, and whispered in his ear, "Not a word beforeMrs. Ewing about what happened this afternoon."

  James nodded. "More mystery," thought he with asperity.

  "You have not spoken of it to her already, I hope," said Doctor Gordonwith quick anxiety.

  "No, I have not. I have scarcely seen her."

  "Well, not a word, I beg of you. She is very nervous."

  The doctor had been removing his overcoat and hat. When he had hung themon some stag's horn in the hall, he went with James into theliving-room.

  There, beside the fire, sat the girl in brown whom James had met thatafternoon on the road.