"Sometimes I feel that I missed my calling," said the doctor in a genial tone. "I believe in my heart I should have been a minister."
"Oh, mercy!" gasped Rosalie.
"Why, my dear little girl, do you think I was hard on the old bird? Not a bit of it. He told you the truth—he would have died except for me. I have simply goaded him into strength. He lives to spite me. And I not only brace him up physically, I am helping his soul." The doctor said this complacently, and was greeted by derisive laughter.
"Fact, for all you may laugh. Twice since I have had him he has extended mortgages. First time he ever did such a thing in his life. His lawyers think he is in his dotage. The trouble with him is that he never caught the connection between religion and business—he practised them both, separately, and consistently. But when it came to religion he never used his brains—he gave to everything the minister advised, whether it was sensible or not, just because the minister advised it—and he sat around and prayed to any old mutt of a preacher, just because he was a reverend. No business sense about it. And then when it came to business, he did not let his religion interfere. I am the connecting link between his religion and his business—and I expect to make a man of him. I think in time I shall work out his soul's salvation. Quite seriously, I believe I would have made a cracking good minister."
Then he took them back to the hospital and up to their father's room. Doris stepped quickly to the bedside.
"Doris? Is it my little girl?"
"Yes, you dear father, Doris and Rosalie are here."
They sat beside the bed, one on either side, and stroked his hands tenderly, glad tears streaming down their faces. After a time, when he thought he could control his voice, he said:
"Girls, I am sorry—but I am quite blind. I can hear you, but I see nothing."
"Oh, dearest," cried Doris brokenly, "of course you can't. Your eyes are bandaged. You are not supposed to see yet. You must wait. The operation was a perfect success."