"Doctor," Stuart began gently. "I've known you for about fifteen years. You're the only father I've had in this big town, and you've been a good one. You've been acting strangely for the past two weeks. You're in trouble."
"The greatest trouble that can come to any human soul," was the bitter answer.
"Haven't I won the right to your confidence and friendship in such an hour?"
"My trouble, boy, is beyond the help of friends."
"Nonsense," Stuart answered cheerfully. "Shake off the blues. What's wrong? Do you need money?"
The doctor broke into a discordant laugh.
"No. I've just sent Harriet abroad. I've some money laid away that will last a year or two until she is earning a good salary. What gave you the idea?"
The last question he asked with sudden sharp energy.
"Actions that indicate a strain greater than you can bear."
"No, you're mistaken," he answered roughly. "I can bear it all right." He paused and his eyes stared at the ceiling as he groaned: "I've got to bear it; what's the use to whine?"