"If it's the money," he ended, "you needn't bother. I'll just put it on the
bill. When I am rich, it won't make no difference, nor when you are,
either."

Mrs. Preston took one of his furry hands in hers, and pressed it. She knew
that the ventures had not yet made him rich. Thirty years in Chicago had
not filled his purse.

"I'd do it for you, same as for one of my daughters. It's just as easy as
having a tooth out, and you start over as good as new."

"It isn't that," she smiled. "You can't start over as good as new if you
are a woman. I couldn't run away. I've put myself into it a second time,
without thinking. I chose then just as before, when I followed him to the
hospital. When the doctor asked me if he should try to save his life, I
wanted him to die--oh, how I longed that the doctor would refuse to try!
Well, he's alive. It is for life."

She seemed to see before her a long, toilsome ascent, to which she had been
driven to put her feet.

"Think it over," the dentist counselled at last, despondently. "Sleep on
it. There's Worcester, Ohio, and my sister-in-law."

Mrs. Preston smiled, and put on her hat.

"I've taken a lot of your time."

"That's no account, but I can't see what you came for. You won't let a
feller help you."