His voice trailed off. When he had started out in his profession, he had had some such ideal of service as this girl beside him. For just a moment, as he stood there close to her, he saw things again with the eyes of his young faith: to relieve pain, to straighten the crooked, to hurt that he might heal,—not to show the other men what he could do,—that had been his early creed. He sighed a little as he turned away.
“I'll speak to the superintendent about you,” he said. “Perhaps you'd like me to show you around a little.”
“When? To-day?”
He had meant in a month, or a year. It was quite a minute before he replied:—
“Yes, to-day, if you say. I'm operating at four. How about three o'clock?”
She held out both hands, and he took them, smiling.
“You are the kindest person I ever met.”
“And—perhaps you'd better not say you are applying until we find out if there is a vacancy.”
“May I tell one person?”
“Mother?”