She arose. "I'll get you a bite to eat, Doctor."
"Never mind! I must be going." He made a sign to Dale, who followed to the gate.
"John, I've been calling here a long time—"
"I know I ought to pay somethin'," Dale started to say.
"It isn't that—I've just diagnosed the case; only one man can cure it."
"Would he—on credit?" Dale anxiously inquired.
"He never charges." Johnston smiled sorrowfully at the old man's despair.
"Who is he?"
"The President; the President of the United States," he added as Dale's eyes filled with questions. "I came out of college a sceptic, John, and I'd be an infidel outright but for that wife of yours—she's nearer the sky, somehow, than any other mortal I've seen. I don't believe in anything, of course—but that dream—if I were you I'd trust it—I'd follow where it led."
With his foot on the hub, the farmer slowly whetted his knife on his boot. "I'll go with you, Doctor."