There was something individual in the way in which his
reddish-brown hair, parted cleanly at the side, bushed over
his high forehead. His nose was straight and thick, and his
eyes were intelligent. He wore a curly, reddish mustache
and an imperial, cut trimly, which made him look a little
like the pictures of Napoleon III. His hands were large and
well kept, but ruggedly formed, and the backs were shaded
with crinkly reddish hair. He wore a blue suit of woolly,
wide-waled serge; the traveling men had known at a glance
that it was made by a Denver tailor. The doctor was al-
ways well dressed.

Dr. Archie turned up the student's lamp and sat down in
the swivel chair before his desk. He sat uneasily, beating
a tattoo on his knees with his fingers, and looked about him
as if he were bored. He glanced at his watch, then absently
took from his pocket a bunch of small keys, selected one
and looked at it. A contemptuous smile, barely percepti-
ble, played on his lips, but his eyes remained meditative.
Behind the door that led into the hall, under his buffalo-
skin driving-coat, was a locked cupboard. This the doctor
opened mechanically, kicking aside a pile of muddy over-
shoes. Inside, on the shelves, were whiskey glasses and
decanters, lemons, sugar, and bitters. Hearing a step in
the empty, echoing hall without, the doctor closed the cup-
board again, snapping the Yale lock. The door of the
waiting-room opened, a man entered and came on into
the consulting-room.