"You've been practicing among the Flat scrubs again," he said to his son. "Strange you cannot let the miserable curs die and the earth be rid of them."
The son paid little heed to his father's coarse bluster.
"They may be scrubs," he replied in his smooth, even tones, "and they may be curs, in fact, I think you are right, father, they are scrubs and curs over on the Flat, and perhaps the earth would be better off without them; nevertheless they are men, and my work lies among men." And this quiet argument silenced the old doctor, if it did not stay his wrath.
During the long, hot summer there was much sickness on the Flat, and Dr. Eldrige Jr. spent much of his time among the sufferers. The heat was intense, and the heavens withheld the rain, the earth became dry and parched, and the dust lay thick on the meagre foliage. The name of Dr. Eldrige Jr. became a magic word in that suffering district. Hard faces grew tender and harsh words died upon the lips when his name was spoken. And day by day he went quietly about his work, relieving pain and caring tenderly for neglected old age, hardened criminals and suffering children. And hardened men and careworn women felt the stirring of new emotions within them and knew that the world is not all bad, nor life altogether bitter.
The summer days slipped by and the frost of autumn, Nature's tonic, came to aid the doctor in his efforts; and life, wretched at best, assumed its usual aspect on the Flat.
On his return from his round of visits one day the young doctor was met by his father, who was in a towering rage.
"Spending your time in the Flat filth," he growled. "Haven't you brains enough to keep out of the cursed mire? Here you are, able to minister to the puppets in high places, who, for want of better employment, spend their time nursing their aches and pains, and are proud of the size of their doctors' bills. You can dope them and dupe them quite as well as I can. Now here's a message from the Reverend Maurice Thorpe. It came an hour ago. Mrs. Thorpe has another attack of headache. Whatever that woman does to bring on those cursed spells is more than I know. If it were not for the holy fool her husband is, I should think she quarreled with him. But whatever the trouble is, all the reverends and the chosen of the Lord could go into fits and the earth be rid of them while you are to your ears in Flat mire. Now make yourself presentable and go and give Mrs. Thorpe a dose of morphine."
Dr. Eldrige Jr. hastened to do his father's bidding; not because of the old man's wrath and ire, but because he knew something of the severity of Mrs. Thorpe's attacks, and felt a very sincere sympathy for her. He found her walking to and fro in her room. She wore a crimson dressing gown, which fell loosely about her form. Her hair hung in disorder over her shoulders and rippled down her back; but she was all unconscious of her appearance. Her hands were clasped against her temples, and there was a frenzied look in her eyes, and dark blue marks lay beneath them. A white line, indicating intense pain, was drawn about her mouth.
She recognized Dr. Eldrige Jr. when he entered the room, but the fact that it was his father instead whom she had expected to see, caused her to suffer a nervous shock. She faltered in her walking and swayed uncertainly. Pauline, who was with her, sprang to her assistance.
Dr. Eldrige Jr. laid his hand on her shoulder and requested her to be seated. But she paid not the slightest attention to his request, and with eyes fixed on the floor, began again her restless walking.