Sitting there in the Old Doctor's study, he conjured up scene after scene of the Old Doctor's irascibility and exclusiveness. Even as late as the Sick-A-Bed Lady's arrival, the Old Doctor had snubbed him unmercifully before a crowd of people. It was at the station when the little sick stranger was being taken off the car and put into a carriage, and the Old Doctor had hailed the Younger with unwonted friendliness.
"I've got a case in there that would make you famous if you could master it," he said.
The Young Doctor remembered perfectly how he had walked into the trap.
"What is it?" he had cried eagerly.
"That's none of your business," chuckled the Old Doctor, and drove away with all the platform loafers shouting with delight.
Well, it seemed to be the Young Doctor's business now, and he got up, turned the lamp higher and began to hunt through the Old Doctor's rarest books for some light on certain curious developments in the Sick-A-Bed Lady's case.
He was just in the midst of this hunt when the Old Housekeeper glided in like a ghost and startled him.
"Sit down," he said absent-mindedly, and went on with his reading. He had almost forgotten her presence when she coughed and said: "Excuse me, sir, but I've something very special to say to you."
The Young Doctor looked up in surprise and saw that the Woman's face was ashy white.
"I—don't—think—you quite—understand the case," she stammered. "I think the little lady upstairs is going to be a Mother!"