“Well, my boy,” he said, in a soothing way, “I’ll be off now. Got half a dozen calls to make before lunch. See you—”
“Look here, Joe! I want you to come to dinner with us on Sunday.”
“Can’t do it!” replied Dr. Joe, in alarm.
“You’ve got to do it, Joe. She wants to meet you, and I want you to see—what she’s done for me.”
“Seen that already!” thought Dr. Joe, but, true to his policy of tactfulness, he kept the thought to himself. “Some other time, old man,” he said.
“You know you can come on Sunday if you want to,” insisted Bennett.
Dr. Joe did know that. What is more, he knew that Bennett knew it.
“And I’ll have to go some time,” he thought ruefully, so he said: “All right, old man—Sunday it is!”
It was a genuine sacrifice. Although Sunday was six days off, the thought of it recurred to him from time to time during the morning, and bothered him. He hated to be pinned down to a definite engagement. His day’s work was always heavy, and, when it was done, he liked to go home. If no calls came for him in the evening, he was glad to drop in to see a friend, for he was a sociable sort of fellow, but he very much disliked feeling that he had to go, that he was expected somewhere at a definite time. He liked, in short, to feel free.
“Breath of life to me,” he reflected. “As Patrick Henry said, give me liberty or give me death. There’s Bennett—married—tied down like that—dare say he’s happy, but it wouldn’t suit me. No, sir! I’ve got to have my liberty. Come and go as I please—meals when it suits me—come home tired—put on an old coat and light my pipe—that’s the life for me!”