leaned down. Haswell, still holding his wrist, pulled him closer. I
could not hear what was said, though somehow I had an impression that
they were talking about Prescott, for it would not have been at all
strange if the old man had been greatly impressed by the alchemist.

Kennedy, I noticed, had pulled an old envelope from his pocket and was
apparently engaged in jotting down some notes, glancing now and then
from his writing to the doctor and then to Mr. Haswell.

The doctor stood erect in a few moments and rubbed his wrist
thoughtfully with the other hand, as if it hurt. At the same time he
smiled on Mrs. Martin. "Your father has a good deal of strength yet,
Mrs. Martin," he remarked. "He has a wonderful constitution. I feel
sure that we can pull him out of this and that he has many, many years
to live."

Mr. Haswell, who caught the words eagerly, brightened visibly, and the
doctor passed out. Kennedy resumed his description of the supposed
wireless picture apparatus which was to revolutionize the newspaper,
the theatre, and daily life in general. The old man did not seem
enthusiastic and turned to his daughter with some remark.

"Just at present," commented the daughter, with an air of finality,
"the only thing my father is much interested in is a way in which
to recover his sight without an operation. He has just had a rather
unpleasant experience with one inventor. I think it will be some time
before he cares to embark in any other such schemes."

Kennedy and I excused ourselves with appropriate remarks of
disappointment. From his preoccupied manner it was impossible for me