“You just bet it is!” cried the doctor. “And you have cut out work for yourself in good shape.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that this is a beginning. You will be called upon to speak again and again.”
“The point is, do you honestly think I helped any?”
“You did inestimable good. It only can help men to hear plain truth that is personal experience. As for that dope of yours, it will come closer raising the dead than anything I ever saw. Next case I see slipping, after I've done my best, I'm going to try it out for myself.”
“All right! 'Phone me and I'll bring some fresh and help you.”
At Buffalo the doctor left the car and bought a paper. As he had expected the portrait and speech of the Harvester were featured. The reporters had been gracious. They had done all that was just to a great event, and allowed themselves some latitude. He immediately mailed the paper to the Girl, and at Cleveland bought another for himself. When he showed it to the Harvester, as he glanced at it he observed, “Do I appear like that?” Then he went on talking with a man he had met who interested him.
CHAPTER XXI. THE COMING OF THE BLUEBIRD
The Harvester stopped at the mail box on his way home and among the mass of matter it contained was something from the Girl. It was a scrap as long as his least finger and three times as wide, and by the postmark it had lain four days in the box. On opening it, he found only her card with a line written across it, but the man went up the hill and into the cabin as if a cyclone were driving him, for he read, “Has your bluebird come?”