He made his explanation easily. Was in town for the day. Subject
to these headaches. Worse over the right eye. No, he didn't wear
glasses; perhaps he should.

It wasn't Clark. It couldn't be. Jud Clark sitting there tilted
back in an old chair and asking questions as to the nature of his
fictitious pain! Impossible. Nevertheless he was of a mind to
clear the slate and get some sleep that night, and having taken his
prescription and paid for it, he sat back and commenced an
apparently casual interrogation.

"Two names on your sign, I see. Father and son, I suppose?"

"Doctor David Livingstone is my uncle."

"I should think you'd be in the city. Limitations to this sort of
thing, aren't there?"

"I like it," said Dick, with an eye on the office clock.

"Patients are your friends, of course. Born and raised here, I
suppose?"

"Not exactly. I was raised on a ranch in Wyoming. My father had
a ranch out there."

Bassett shot a glance at him, but Dick was calm and faintly smiling.

"Wyoming!" the reporter commented. "That's a long way from here.