"My prof--oh, you mean medicine."

"Yes."

"Nothing in it. Doctors are a lot of prejudiced pedants and hypocrites.
Not one in a thousand is more than an inch wide. What started you on
that?"

"I hardly know. It was just a notion. I think the scientific and
sociological side is what appeals to me. But my interest is only
theoretical."

"That's very well for a hobby. Not as a profession. Here we are, half an
hour late, as usual."

The sudden and violent bite of the brakes, a characteristic operation of
that mummy among railroads, the Mid-State and Great Muddy River,
commonly known as the "Mid-and-Mud," flung forward in an involuntary
plunge the incautious who had arisen to look after their things. Hal
Surtaine found himself supporting the weight of a fortuitous citizen who
had just made his way up the aisle.

"Thank you," said the stranger in a dry voice. "You're the prodigal son
of whom we've heard such glowing forecast, I presume."

"Well met, Mr. Pierce," called Dr. Surtaine's jovial voice. "Yes, that's
my son, Harrington, you're hanging to. Hal, this is Mr. Elias M. Pierce,
one of the men who run Worthington."