Then, muttering to himself as was his wont when enraged, he wheeled and went towards the house, leaving Travers to look out for himself.
The landlord of the Union House did not tarry long. He had done a thing which yesterday he would not have believed himself capable of doing. Now he went slowly down to the yard gate, wondering at his bravery, got into a wornout road-cart which he had borrowed in town from a country friend, and began his return trip.
When Glenning had dispatched a hasty breakfast he sought the clerk in the hotel office and told him to have his bill ready some time that forenoon. That worthy at once evinced a loquacious interest in the new doctor's affairs, and would fain have inquired his departing guest's plans for the future, but John merely replied that he had no intention of leaving town, and went up to his room. Here he was soon joined by Tom Dillard, who came in wearing the most dejected air possible, tendered a perfunctory good morning to John's hearty greeting, and sank upon the edge of the bed, his round, soft face wofully elongated.
"Sick this morning, Dillard?" queried Glenning, busy with the damaged clothes which still lay on the chair. "I'd as lieve have you for my first patient as anybody."
Dillard sighed, and shook his head dolorously.
"Not exactly sick, and not exactly well," he replied, "but it's precious little sleeping I did last night."
"Indigestion?"
"No; worry."
Glenning, briskly wielding a clothes brush, glanced at Dillard. He was evidently in the depths of despair, and had most likely come for consolation or advice.