over it was thrown a brightly colored house coat.

A gasoline lamp threw a strong white light on the comfortable room,
and the city papers lay, still unfolded, on the table beside a pile of
letters.

The old doctor exclaimed with delight:

"Who fixes you up so fine, Clay--surely there's a woman around this
place!"

"My landlady"--said the young doctor, "looks after me."

"I know, I know," said the older man, "I know the kind of fellow you
are--the kind women love to fuss around. I'll bet you get dozens of
bedroom slippers and ties and mufflers at Christmas. Women are like
cats--they love to rub their heads against any one that will stroke
them and say 'poor pussy'--they're all the same."

The old doctor seated himself in the big chair and warmed his hands
before the glowing coals.

"And now, Clay, I want to talk to you. There are certain facts that
must be told. I have been interested in your case ever since I met
you. You are a distinct type, with your impulsive temperament, clear
skin and tapering fingers. But what I have to say to you would have
been said easier if I did not know you so well--and if I had not been
here and seen you in your native setting--as it were.... Being
a medical man yourself, Clay, you know the difficulties of the
situation."