"Why is it they can't make coffee in a hospital?" asked Jim.
"They do make it," I answered; "but the doctors and nurses never let any of it get away from them. They find it too strong for boarders. It's bad for their nerves. The only thing that's good for a sick man is something you can sterilize, and then they may charge double prices for it. Jim, did you ever feel so hungry before when you settled down there?"
I was trying to divert his attention from the trouble I had put him through, for I realized there was no hope for his case unless I yet took a hand in and patched up the chasm which separated him from an imagined paradise.
It is surprising what a relation there is between the digestion and heart.
"We were to have been married a week from to-day, Ben," said Jim.
My knife and fork clattered to the floor!
"That's so; and now we are parted forever."
I was struck dumb—only one week to make good, to save the wreck from total loss! Something must be done quickly. In the past everything I had undertaken had been a failure, but I must persist. It was close to ten o'clock—a bad time to begin, for my midnight correspondence had never been correctly construed.
"When did you leave Gabrielle?" I asked, with an idea ranging in my fancy. It was an intangible idea, but I thought it promised relief.
"About five o'clock to-day; we separated at the Gibsons'."