“Well, I am sorry for you, doc; still it is better than no berth at all,” said Greenaway, sadly, “I didn’t get a thing, and I’m the poorest man in the college.”
“By Jove, that’s too bad!” said Reginald Brookes, with feeling. “But, say, what are you going to do; you can’t go into general practice without capital.”
Fred Greenaway shrugged his shoulders and frowned slightly.
“I used up all I had on my education,” he said, briefly, “but I’ll catch on to something. I’m not worrying about it.”
Dick Fielding rushed away at that moment in answer to a call from a friend, and in a flash Dr. Brookes put his hand on Greenaway’s shoulder.
“Let me lend you five thousand to start with, old chap! I can do it as well as not, and you can give me an I. O. U. for security.”
Fred Greenaway looked up at the handsome fellow in amazement.
“Great Cæsar! Do you mean that, doc?” he asked, excitedly.
“Certainly,” said young Brookes, briefly, as he drew a check book from his pocket. “Why the deuce didn’t you tell me you were hard up before. I thought you considered me your friend, you rascal!”
Fred Greenaway did not speak for the space of a minute. Such generosity as this was totally unknown to him, and just at this time it was doubly and trebly grateful.