"Yes," was the reply, "but he is busy with a patient."
"Well," responded the stranger with increasing nervousness. "I want to see him. It is a matter of life or death."
Some fragments of the conversation had penetrated to the office where the physician was giving a final injunction to his patient. He threw open the door and came out into the vestibule.
"What is the matter?" he asked.
"Doctor" said the strange visitor as he presented a card, "one of the workmen at P. O'Sullivan's ice house at Lake View, has met with an accident and been terribly injured about here" (indicating the abdomen by a wave of his hand). "Unless a doctor sees him at once," he went on in his hurried, nervous, manner, "he will die. O'Sullivan is out of town, but he has spoken so often of you and said that you should be called in case of an accident that I thought I'd better come to you."
Dr. Cronin glanced at the card. It was a fac-simile of this.
For a moment he twirled it between his finger and thumb. Then he looked at his watch. It was near the hour for the meeting, in the proceedings of which he was liable to take a prominent part. But the humane instincts of the profession quickly overcame all other considerations.
"One moment" he ejaculated, "and I will be with you."
"I have a buggy and fast horse down stairs" called out the stranger.