anything he did in that light, that he should take a trivial matter like
this so seriously. He couldn't have looked more relieved over the
successful finish of a difficult operation.

"That happens to be a case I'll never forget," he went on to explain.
"Professionally speaking, it was unique, but it had points of human
interest as well. The girl was a patient in one of the wards at the
Presbyterian. I didn't get a look at her until the last minute when it
was desperate. Her father was opposed to the operation--a religious
scruple, it turned out. Didn't want God's will interfered with. He was a
workman, a skilled workman in a piano factory. There was no time to lose
so I drove out there and got him; converted him on the way back to the
hospital. I remember the son, now I think of it; by his speech, too. I
remember thinking that the mother must have been a really cultivated
woman. Well, it's all right. I've got the address in the files at the
office. I'll send a letter there in the morning and enclose a check. How
much ought it to be?"

Once more Paula did not know. Hadn't, she protested, an idea; and when
John asked her how much she paid Bernstein, she didn't know that either.
It all went on the bill.

"Well, that's easy," said John. "I've got last month's bills in my desk.
All right, I'll look into it. You needn't bother about it any more."

An approximation to a sniff from Miss Wollaston conveyed the comment
that Paula hadn't bothered appreciably about it from the beginning, but
neither of the others paid any attention to that.

As it fell out, John might have spared his labors because at eight