"If I did not intend to bleed you out of half your fortune before you die I would not 'tend to you another day," snapped the doctor.
The girls looked on in silent horror. MacCammon smiled appreciatively. The patient was lying helpless under the doctor's skilful hands, obeying his orders with child-like confidence, and the doctor was ministering to the physical needs of the old man with tender professional touches. But all the while the patient glared venomously up into the doctor's face and the doctor glowered back.
"Turn over," said the doctor sharply.
"Ain't he polite?" sneered the old man. "Ain't he a perfect gentleman?" But he did not hesitate to obey the doctor's word.
"Now turn back. I did not want anything. Just wanted to see if it would hurt you to move. There's nothing the matter with you anyhow but an overdose of devil germs. You've bulldozed and browbeaten so many people for so many years that you've got a calloused heart and a calloused soul. It gives you indigestion. That's all that ails you—spiritual indigestion."
Doris came forward with gentle sympathy and laid a slender hand on the man's shoulder.
"He is a bad doctor. This is no time to throw up your weaknesses, is it?"
"Well," admitted the old man, "he is a fiend, but he is a good doctor. All the rest gave me up to die—and he came, and operated—it was a terrible operation on the brain—and I am nearly well. He is a good doctor—but he is a fiend. But then, if it comes to that, I haven't been an angel myself."
Doris could not help laughing.
"An angel. I am surprised you know the word," scoffed the doctor. "You wouldn't recognize an angel if you ran into one. Your eyes are blind to everything but the dollar-mark. If you ever get to Heaven, your crown will be made up of dollar bills instead of diamonds."