"So I have heard."
"Her salary is a little low, but I presume Jim never thought much about it, but since it has been called to his attention, I think he will raise it."
"I thank you, Mr. Wilson."
Harold could scarcely wait for night to come when he could call on Ruth. He was anxious to get business for himself, but he was more anxious that Ruth should receive an advancement in wages, not alone because she was a dear friend, but largely because he knew she had her heart set on sending her father to a specialist. Harold didn't believe that it would do him any good. He had talked with several local doctors who had examined him and they pronounced his case as hopeless. He knew, though, that Ruth would never be satisfied until she had sent her father to Dr. Lilly.
That same evening when he called at the Babcock home he found Mr. Babcock on the porch, his head resting between his hands, his elbows on his knees. "Good evening, Mr. Babcock."
"Good evening, Mr. King. Have a chair."
"How are you feeling, Mr. Babcock?"
"I am feeling better, but not very strong yet. I worry so much because I can't remember. If I could only get my memory back I believe I would be myself again."
"Can't you remember anything that happened before the accident?"
"No, nothing; except that I had a safe with money in it, but I can't remember where the safe was. I can remember part of the combination. It was two turns to the right then to the left to forty——"