it has never been proved. Until it's proved, they're entitled--"
Burlingame paused.

"To the benefit of the doubt, eh?"

"Why not? I've heard you hold the balance pretty fair 'twixt your
patients and the undertaker."

Quite unmoved, the Young Doctor coolly replied: "In your own happy
phrase--of course! I get a commission from the undertaker when the
patient's a poor man; when he's a rich man, I keep him alive! It pays.
The difference between your friends the criminals and me is that probably
nobody will ever be able to catch me out. But the McMahons, we'll get
them yet,"--a stern, determined look came into his honest eye,--"yes,
we'll get them yet. They're a nasty fringe on the skirts of Askatoon.

"But there it is as it is," he continued. "You take their dirty money,
and I don't refuse pay when I'm called in to attend the worst man in the
West, whoever he may be. Why, Burlingame, as your family physician,
I shouldn't hesitate even to present my account against your estate if,
in a tussle with the devil, he got you out of my hands."

Now a large and friendly smile covered his face. He liked hard hitting,
but he also liked to take human nature as it was, and not to quarrel.
Burlingame, on his part, had no desire for strife with the Young Doctor.
He would make a very dangerous enemy. His return smile was a great
effort, however. Ruefulness and exasperation were behind it.

The Young Doctor had only been gone a few minutes when Joel Mazarine
entered Burlingame's office. "I've come about that six thousand dollars