"But I tell you I won't have him."
"Not when I assure you that I consider him a perfectly reliable physician, and that I would trust my own son with him?"
"Not even upon that assurance."
The good old man was puzzled and troubled, too. After a brief silence, he said slowly—
"Mr. Morse, I do not understand you. You and Dr. Myers are members of the same church, and yet you seem to hold bitterness toward him. I do not understand that. Further than this, you will let your son die, perhaps, for lack of the help which the man you dislike can give, because you happen to dislike him. I do not understand that. I did not prescribe for your son, and I shall not. It is of no use. He must be soothed and quieted. My visit was an injury to him. But of course you must do as you think proper. Good morning."
Turning back from the door, Dr. Maxwell added, "If it would be a satisfaction to you, I will agree to call often enough to watch the progress the disease is making, and will counsel with the doctor. But something must be done at once."
Though Mr. Morse was becoming alarmed by the doctor's earnestness, he retained his almost surly manner as he replied, "Well, I have placed him in your care. If you prescribe a heavy dose of Dr. Myers, I suppose we shall have to submit, however unpleasant."
Dr. Maxwell found his friend just returned from his morning round of calls, and he was soon sitting beside the sick boy, holding his burning hand in his own cool one, while he spoke gentle soothing words.
For a few days fever and delirium raged, then came a slow convalescence. Dr. Myers came often, and sat long beside his patient trying to cheer him and drive away a gloom that hung over him. Perry rarely smiled; his mood seemed between sullenness and despair. One day the doctor said—
"Perry, my boy, you don't gain as fast as I wish you did. You must try to cheer up; it is low spirits that keeps you back."