The office was in full blast: the telephones rang sharply every few
minutes, telling in their irritable little clang of some prosperous patient
who desired a panacea for human ailments; the reception-room was already
crowded with waiting patients of the second class, those who could not
command appointments by telephone. Whenever the door into this room opened,
these expectant ones moved nervously, each one hoping to be called. Then,
as the door into the private offices closed, the ones left behind fell back
with sighs to the magazines and illustrated papers with which they sought
to distract their fears or their ennui.

The thin, tall building shivered slightly at the blows of the fresh April
wind. The big windows of the reception-room admitted broad bands of
sunlight. The lake dazzled beneath in gorgeous green and blue shades.
Spring had bustled into town from the prairies, insinuating itself into the
dirty, cavernous streets, sailing in boisterously over the gleaming lake,
eddying in steam wreaths about the lofty buildings. The subtle monitions of
the air permeated the atmosphere of antiseptics in the office, and whipped
the turbulent spirits of Sommers until, at the lunch hour, he deserted the
Athenian Building and telephoned for his horse.

This saddle horse was one of the compensations for conformity. He had been
too busy lately, however, to enjoy it. From the bellow of the city he
cantered down the boulevards toward the great parks. As he passed the
Hitchcock house he was minded to see if Miss Hitchcock would join him. In
the autumn she had ridden with him occasionally, waiving conventionalities,
but lately she had made excuses. He divined that Parker Hitchcock had
sneered at such countrified behavior. She was to go away in a few days for
a round of visits in the South, and he wanted to see her; but a carriage
drew up before the house, and his horse carried him briskly past down the
avenue. From one boulevard to another he passed, keeping his eyes straight