He got up painfully.
"Well, now," said Doctor Simon, "I'd feel better if I paid you for treating my horse. Just put this five-dollar bill in your pocket. I guess you need it more than I do."
Danny shook his head. "That's all right!" he said weakly, for he was feeling very ill. "It's a stand-off."
"Oh, go ahead, take it!" urged Doctor Simon, shoving the bill into the pocket of Danny's overcoat. "By the way, have you got your card? I might be able to send a little business your way."
When his magic skill with horses was matter of common knowledge among the upper circle of Long Island grooms and coachmen Danny had had a few cards struck off by a friendly printer. A couple of fly-blown specimens still lingered in the drawer of Mulqueen's desk. Danny searched until he found one:
DANIEL LOWRY
VETERINARY
212 WEST 53D STREET
NEW YORK CITY
"Here, sor," said he, his head swimming, "that's my name, but the address is wrong."