“No, they went back to New York two weeks or more ago. Their cottage is closed.”
“Dear me!... Oh, dear!... Why, but—but there IS a hotel at Wellmouth?”
“Yes, a kind of hotel, but you mustn't think of going there to-night.” Then, with a motion of his hand, he indicated to Miss Phipps that he wished to speak with her alone. She led the way to the kitchen and he followed.
“Martha,” he said, when the door closed, “to be absolutely honest with you, that man in there shouldn't go out again to-night. He has been half sick for some time, I judge from what he has told me, and he is weak and worn out from his tramp and wetting.”
Miss Phipps shook her head impatiently.
“The idea of Raish Pulcifer's cartin' him 'way over here and then leavin' him in the middle of the road,” she said. “It's just like Raish, but that doesn't help it any; nothin' that's like Raish helps anything—much,” she added.
The doctor laughed.
“I'm beginning to believe you're right, Martha,” he agreed.
“I'm pretty sure I am. I think I know Raish Pulcifer by this time; I almost wish I didn't. Father used to say that if ignorance was bliss the home for feeble-minded folks ought to be a paradise. But I don't know; sometimes I wish I wasn't so wise about some things; I might be happier.”
Her pleasant, comely face had clouded over. Doctor Powers thought he understood why.