It was very brief, simply saying: “Please call at my office at your convenience;” but it was signed “Chester D. Williams,” in big, bold script, and that signature, Will reflected, would be good for thousands of dollars—even hundreds of thousands—if signed to a check.
While the boy was thus engaged, the door burst open and Doctor Meigs entered, stamping the snow from his feet and shaking it from his shoulders as a shaggy Newfoundland dog shakes off the rain. It had been snowing for an hour, and the big flakes were falling slowly and softly, as if they had a mission to fulfill and plenty of time to accomplish it.
“Hello, Doctor,” said Will, cheerily. “Read that.”
Doctor Meigs took the letter, sat down, and read it carefully. Then he looked up.
“How’s your throat?” he asked.
“All right,” said Will.
“Sore, any?”
“Not a bit.”
“Feel chills creeping up your back?”
“No.”