“There's a roast of beef. It's a pity to cook a roast for one.”
Wasteful, too, this cooking of food for two and only one to eat it. A roast of beef meant a visit, in Dr. Ed's modest-paying clientele. He still paid the expenses of the house on the Street.
“Sorry, old man; I've made another arrangement.”
They left the hospital together. Everywhere the younger man received the homage of success. The elevator-man bowed and flung the doors open, with a smile; the pharmacy clerk, the doorkeeper, even the convalescent patient who was polishing the great brass doorplate, tendered their tribute. Dr. Ed looked neither to right nor left.
At the machine they separated. But Dr. Ed stood for a moment with his hand on the car.
“I was thinking, up there this afternoon,” he said slowly, “that I'm not sure I want Sidney Page to become a nurse.”
“Why?”
“There's a good deal in life that a girl need not know—not, at least, until her husband tells her. Sidney's been guarded, and it's bound to be a shock.”
“It's her own choice.”
“Exactly. A child reaches out for the fire.”