stretch out--but I do apologize: What were you saying?"

"O, I'm done now," said his companion, not in the least disturbed; "I
want you to tell me about yourself and your work here. You know you
interest me, Clay. You are a sort of popular idol with all these
people, and I have been wondering how you do it. A man must give
freely of himself to be as popular as you are, Clay--do you ever find
yourself giving out under the strain, and in need of a rest?"

"Just a little tired, sometimes," the young man confessed, "but it's
nothing--at all."

The old man watched him narrowly, taking careful note that the pallor
of his face had suddenly changed to a heightened color. "When we get
supper, Clay, I want to have a serious talk with you. You may remember
that I approached this subject the last time you were in the city.
I want to give you the report on the examination I gave you at that
time." There was a quality in his voice which gave the young man a
momentary sense of dread, not unmixed with a certain impatience. He
was too tired to be bothered. He wanted nothing but a chance to think
his own thoughts, as the sorrel team struck off the miles with their
tireless feet.

When they had had supper at the Chinese restaurant, they went to the
doctor's office. The sun, though long since set, still threw spikes
of light upon the western sky and caught the under side of one ragged
cloud which seemed to have been forgotten in an otherwise clear sky.

In the office, a cheerful coal fire glowed through its mica windows,
and in front of the doctor's leather chair, were his slippers, and