"How's her head, Cy?" the Captain called out.

"Oh, better, I guess," Cyrus said.--("I'll be hanged if I speak to Dr.
Lavendar!")

"That's good," said the Captain, beginning to hoist himself up out of
his chair. "Going out? Hold hard, and I'll go 'long. I want to call on
Mrs. North."

Cyrus stiffened. "Cold night, sir," he remonstrated.

"'Your granny was Murray, and wore a black nightcap!'" said the Captain;
"you are getting delicate in your old age, Cy." He got up, and plunged
into his coat, and tramped out, slamming the door heartily behind him;
for which, later, poor Cyrus got the credit. "Where you bound?"

"Oh--down-street," said Cyrus, vaguely.

"Sealed orders?" said the Captain, with never a bit of curiosity in his
big, kind voice; and Cyrus felt as small as he was. But when he left the
old man at Mrs. North's door, he was uneasy again. Maybe Gussie was
right! Women are keener about those things than men. And his uneasiness
actually carried him to Dr. Lavendar's study, where he tried to appear
at ease by patting Danny.

"What's the matter with you, Cyrus?" said Dr. Lavendar, looking at him
over his spectacles. (Dr. Lavendar, in his wicked old heart, always
wanted to call this young man Cipher; but, so far, grace had been given
him to withstand temptation.) "What's wrong?" he said.