"No, I wouldn't; he has no patience. You can't have genius without
patience. Sam hasn't a particle."

"Well," the doctor explained, "he hasn't the slightest sense of
responsibility; and I notice that when people have no sense of
responsibility, you call them either criminals or geniuses."

"I don't," said Dr. Lavendar dryly, "I call 'em poor critters, either
way. But Willy, about this little boy; the great point is who needs
him? I expect he'll be here on Saturday."

"What! This week? But you haven't found anybody to take him."

"Oh, he'll stay with me for a while, Mary'll look after him. And I'll
play marbles with him. Got any white alleys? Gimme six, and I'll give
you an agate."

"But Dr. Lavendar, that will be a nuisance to you," William King
protested. "Let me take him. Or, at least--I'll ask Martha; she's
house-cleaning now, and she says she's very tired; so I'm not sure--"
William ended weakly.

"No, no; I want him myself," said the old minister.

"Well," Dr. King said with evident relief, "shall I speak to Mrs.
Richie about him? I'm going up there to-morrow; she's got a sick cook,
and she asked me to call. What's his name?"

"David Allison. You might sound her William, but don't be definite.