home. My father is ill--and in the doctor's care."

"Oh, I'm so sorry. I hope it isn't serious."

"I don't know whether it is or not. It can't be desperately serious,
because he wrote the letter himself. But at any rate it's serious enough
for me. He wants me to give up my work here at the Harvard Medical and
come West."

Mary gasped. "Give it up!" she repeated. "Give up your studies? Give up
medicine? Surely he doesn't want you to do that!"

Crawford shook his head. "No, not quite that," he replied. "I wouldn't
do that, even for him. But he writes that he is not well and is not
likely to be better for a good while, if ever, and he would be very much
happier if I were nearer at hand. He wants me to give up here at the
Harvard Med. and take up my work again at Denver or Salt Lake City or
somewhere out there. Even Chicago would seem much nearer, he says. It's
a pitiful sort of letter. The old chap seems dreadfully down in the
dumps. He wants me, that's plain enough, and he seems to think he needs
me. Says if I were at Denver I could come home every little while,
whereas here I can't. What ought I to do? I hate to say no, and I hate
just as much to say yes."

Mary considered.

"I think you must decide for yourself," she said after a moment. "You
have your career to consider, of course."

"Yes, I have. But, to be perfectly honest, I suppose my career would