“Well, then, Richling, what is the matter?”
“Mary has a daughter.”
“What!” cried the Doctor, springing up with a radiant face, and grasping Richling’s hand in both his own.
Richling laughed aloud, nodded, laughed again, and gave either eye a quick, energetic wipe with all his fingers.
“Doctor,” he said, as the physician sank back into his chair, “we want to name”—he hesitated, stood on one foot and leaned again against the shelf—“we want to call her by the name of—if we may”—
The Doctor looked up as if with alarm, and John said, timidly,—“Alice!”
Dr. Sevier’s eyes—what was the matter? His mouth quivered. He nodded and whispered huskily:—
“All right.”
After a long pause Richling expressed the opinion that he had better be going, and the Doctor did not indicate any difference of conviction. At the door the Doctor asked:—
“If the fever should break out this summer, Richling, will you go away?”