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Armstrong's sand-coloured sedan and the five-year-old roadster of Dr. His old friend Sandy Mc Intyre, long since a lung specialist in Phoenix, had once recited that initial chapter for Lane in a dusty day-coach on the Santa Fe inexpensively en route from Chicago to the Coast. "They used to say that when the kid was thirteen or so he would sit on the fence and watch the rest of 'em play ball. You remember, Lane, the sort of fooling that goes on among cocky young medicals, as if the whole business was full of hanky-panky. You may be sure it hadn't required old Oliver Newell's money to make her the exact centre of interest wherever she went." Lane, who had taken more than a merely inquisitive interest in psychoanalysis, would have liked to ask a few pertinent questions at this point, but had hesitated, knowing that the lean Scot with the prominent pink cheek-bones would have closed up like a clam.

Lane, who at that moment was noisily tuning up for departure. "We're doing that tuberculous kidney at nine." "Not till to-morrow," explained Lane discontentedly. "I understand Jim's boy is working now at Parkway," Mc Intyre had remarked in the course of their shop-talk. " "Hadn't noticed," Lane remembered having replied. Willing to play tennis, sail a boat, ride a horse, dive from high places, and almost anything else requiring speed, skill, and courage, but he wouldn't play baseball for fear of damaging his fingers. Took up the violin, not because he wanted to be a musician, but to improve the dexterity of his left hand. Can't blame 'em much; just sensitive, scared youngsters, trying to build up some kind of defence-apparatus against the screams and shocking sights and stupefying stinks of a big hospital. "I recall one cruelly hot afternoon when Brute Spangler—best diagnostician we ever had, but hard-boiled as the handles o' hell—was leading a flock of us through the open ward of the women's surgical, he growled at Jim, out of the corner of his mouth, 'Cheer up, Father Paige. Mc Intyre didn't need anybody to inform him—even by tactful indirection—that the heart is located close to the lungs.

Never met anybody with such complete mastery over a situation....

Pleased with her undamaged arrival, she belatedly made a great show of professional poise, by rolling to a discreet stop on the crunching gravel between Dr. Lane, himself, knew it only from hearsay, for he had been a mere stripling at the tail of a muddy ambulance in France when Jim Paige died, here at Parkway, of a swift pneumonia, following the malignant flu that had mown a broad swath through the hospitals after the manner of a medieval pestilence. "They ragged him about it a good deal when we were in school."Perhaps it would be better all around if I left Parkway, Dr. "I don't see the necessity of that." He had risen and stood facing her. Keenly interested in bacteriology, he had enjoyed nothing better than microscopical research, but no sooner would he be lost in his scientific problem than Frances would saunter in to bend over his shoulder, ruthlessly reckless as she pressed closely against him. She was at his heels until the whole place buzzed merrily. You wouldn't know how to be kind, anyhow—except possibly to your dog." Confused and defenceless, Paige had replied, absurdly, "Well—Sylvia is a good dog." Mrs. It had been suggested to her that she should try to discover the nature of Dr. As for the sudden friendship which had developed between her and the young surgeon, Bunny was regretfully unable to enlighten Miss Ogilvie."You are needed here," he continued, in a tone of challenge. At length he had been obliged to be almost surly with her, to shut off the insufferable smiles and winks. Lawrence Dexter's day nurse, Bunny Mather, obediently but unrewardedly studied Dr. Paige's peculiar interest in her wealthy and prominent patient. No—she hadn't the faintest idea what they talked about, for she was always promptly excused from attendance while these conversations were in progress. " "Yes—he said he didn't believe it." "And then they laughed, I suppose." "No." "It wasn't just a little joke, then?This ocular phenomenon was due to an incipient exophthalmic goitre, but the fact remained that Bunny was almost, if not quite, as nave and artless as she looked. And she certainly wasn't the sort to initiate or encourage a gusty little romance for the sake of passing the time. Paige always had the manner of a person coming in for advice on some important problem. He never entered with the capable condescension of the physician making his rounds, carolling, "And how do we find ourselves this morning?

To-day she was resolved to stay in the room with them until definitely and firmly invited to leave. " Bunny had thought of saying to Miss Ogilvie that Dr. Dexter, but had decided against that because it sounded too silly.

Endicott took the lad by the hand and we went back to the library. Nobody was patronizing the library much during that frantic period. Dexter yourself." There was an inquiring pause which Dr.

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