When he came home at lunch time, he did not run up the steps. He walked, and this gave him an opportunity to observe that the glass in the door was grimy and the curtain covering it limp and spotted. He was about to fling open the door when, to his surprise, it was opened for him. It was opened by Miss Ryan, hatless, and wearing an apron.
“Lots of people in the waiting room,” she whispered. “Your lunch is all ready.”
“See here!” he cried, astounded, but she had hurried off down the passage.
He followed her into the dining room. There was a clean cloth on the table, and its radiance dazzled him. There was a wonderful aroma in the air.
“Sit down!” said she, and vanished into the kitchen.
He did sit down, dazed and helpless. In a minute back she came, with a broiled steak such as no man had ever eaten before, and fried potatoes, and tomato salad, and other things.
“Please eat it while it’s nice and hot,” she said.
“See here!” cried Dr. Joe again. “What are you doing here?”
“Begin to eat, then!” she insisted sternly. “Well, you see, you must have dropped your notebook out of your pocket last night. I found it on the veranda this morning, and I thought I’d better bring it to you. When I came, that Mrs. MacAdams—well, she marched upstairs and got her hat and coat, and she said—”
Miss Ryan paused.