Montague escaped the dreaded pneumonia. He rallied, at first it seemed rapidly. He begged a letter should be written home making light of all exaggerated rumors, and that he should be moved to his own home; but heavy cold and wrenched nerves and bitter memories were poor aids to health in his big empty house, where Susan stood guard over him and Bill kept watch in the kitchen.
The doctor went to see him and the professor. Two weeks went by, and the doctor was first surprised and then discouraged. Driving in from one of his visits he saw the professor on the sidewalk. He drew rein.
"How is Edward?" asked the professor quickly.
The doctor shifted the reins he held carelessly. "So, so," he said lightly, "not so well as I thought he would be by this time; it's dull out there."
The professor was listening, an anxious furrow down his forehead. "I will take him out some magazines."
"Hm!"
"And—what do you think he needs?"
"Company, I guess. Helen"—Mrs. Randall—"wants to go out. Every time I go I have so many other visits to make I cannot manage it."
"I'll take her!" eagerly interrupted the professor.