"No, it wasn't losing the case, though that was bad enough.
It was losing my infernal hair-trigger of a temper that's been
cutting in like a knife. I had the boy where he ought to get
well if they followed my precautions a thousand times
repeated. This morning his heart was a whole lot stronger; it
only needed time. Tonight his mother let him sit up - in
spite of all I'd threatened her with if she did. He went out
like a snuffed candle. When I saw it I was so angry with her
I" - he thrust up one hand and ran it through his thick locks
with a gesture of savagery - "I let loose on her - poor soul
with her heart already broken. He was the only boy - of
course, - I ought to have been shot on the spot."

He sent the car flying down the road. Chester could think of
nothing to say. He could imagine the sort of apology Red had
given the boy's mother - one to make her forgive and adore
him. No doubt it had "eased her." It must have been a hard
thing for R. P. Burns, M.D., to do. Suddenly recalling this
he said so, and added a word of admiration. Burns turned on
him.

"Boy," he said, "I'm the toughest case on my list. I'm a
chronic patient. Just as I think I have myself in hand I
suffer a relapse. I break out in a new place. Of all men who
need self-control, it's a surgeon needs it most. Sometimes,
I'm in too much of a temper to operate - just because a nurse
has failed to provide the right sutures. Every red hair on my
head stands up like a porcupine's quills - my hand isn't
steady I can't trust my own judgment till I've cooled down.