Mr. Van Alstyne dropped into a chair, and through force of habit I gave
him a glass of spring water.

"This was a pretty girl, too," he said dismally.

I sat down on the other side of the fireplace, and it seemed to me that
father's crayon enlargement over the mantel shook its head at me.

After a minute Mr. Van Alstyne drank the water and got up.

"I'll have to tell my wife," he said. "Who's running the place, anyhow?
You?"

"Not--exactly," I explained, "but, of course, when anything comes up
they consult me. The housekeeper is a fool, and now that the house
doctor's gone--"

"Gone! Who's looking after the patients?"

"Well, most of them have been here before," I explained, "and I know
their treatment--the kind of baths and all that."

"Oh, YOU know the treatment!" he said, eying me. "And why did the house
doctor go?"

"He ordered Mr. Moody to take his spring water hot. Mr. Moody's spring
water has been ordered cold for eleven years, and I refused to change.
It was between the doctor and me, Mr. Van Alstyne."