gleams of the books, the medicine bottles which had lights like jewels,
and over all the flickers of prismatic hues. The long table was covered
with corks, empty bottles, books, a medicine-case, and newspapers,
besides a mighty inkstand and writing materials. There were also a box
of cigars, a great leather tobacco pouch, and, interspersed among all, a
multitude of pipes. The doctor drew a chair beside this chaotic table
lit with rainbow lights, and invited James to sit down. "Sit down a
moment," he said. "Will you have a pipe or a cigar?"

"Cigar, please," replied James. The doctor pushed the box toward him.
James realized immediately a ten-cent cigar at the least when he began
to smoke. Doctor Gordon filled a pipe mechanically. His face still wore
the gloomy, almost fierce, expression which it had assumed at table. He
was a handsome man in a rough, sketchy fashion. His face was blurred
with a gray grizzle of beard. He wore his hair rather long, and he had
a fashion of running his fingers through it, which made it look like a
thick brush. He dressed rather carelessly, still like a gentleman. His
clothes were slouchy, and needed brushing, but his linen was immaculate.

Doctor Gordon smoked in silence, which his young assistant was too shy
to break. The elder man finished his pipe, then he rose with an
impatient gesture and shook himself like a great shaggy dog. "Come,
young man," said he, "we don't want to spend the evening like this. Get
your hat and coat."

James obeyed, and the two men left the office by the outer door which
opened on the stable. As they came around by the front of the house
Clemency stood in the doorway.

"Are you going out, you and Doctor Elliot, Uncle Tom?" she called.