Still clad in hat and overcoat, he seated himself at the desk and called up first the information bureau of the South Terminal Station, then his young associate, Dr. Philip Bentley, in whose charge he was accustomed to leave his regular patients when called away from the city for any length of time; and finally a house used as a semi-club by trained nurses.
When his last call was answered he asked, "Is Miss Merriman registered with you now? This is Dr. MacDonald speaking."
After a wait of several minutes, during which he felt himself nod repeatedly, a sleepy voice spoke over the wire, "This is Miss Merriman, Dr. MacDonald. I'm just off a case."
"Good. I'm lucky ... that is if you're game to take another one immediately."
"Yes, doctor. Do you want me to-night?"
"No, to-morrow ... this morning, that is, will do. I shall want you to meet me at the South Station, New York train, at seven o'clock."
"Yes, doctor. What sort of a case is it?"
"Same as the last you assisted me in—brain tumor. But we're going further this trip ... the jumping-off place in Virginia. It's up in the mountains, so take plenty of warm clothes."
"Very well, doctor." Then there came a little laugh, for these two were excellent friends now, and the query, "Another record-breaking fee?"
"I'll tell you to-morrow," he replied. "Don't forget, seven o'clock train for New York. Good-night."