The strange men from distant places came less frequently. Days would pass, and bring no word. The country doctor who had first been called stopped occasionally when time permitted, and his faithful old horse needed a little rest, but he only shook his head. He admitted to the nurse that he was greatly surprised because the inevitable operation had not yet become imperative.
Colonel Kent seemed to have been lost for almost a week. During that time no word had been received from him and Madame's daily bulletin: "No change for the worse," had been returned, marked "not found." She was vaguely troubled and uneasy, fearing that something might have happened to him, but forebore to speak of her fears.
One morning, while Allison was still asleep, the nurse wakened him gently. "A new man, Mr. Allison; can you see him now?"
"I don't care," he replied. "Bring him in."
The newcomer was a young man—one would have guessed that the ink was scarcely dry on his diploma. He had a determined mouth, a square chin, kind eyes, and the buoyant youthful courage that, by itself, carries one far upon any chosen path.
He smiled at Allison and Allison smiled back at him, in friendly fashion. "Now," said the young man, "let's see."
His big fingers were astonishingly gentle, they worked with marvellous dexterity, and, for the first time, the dreaded examination was almost painless. He asked innumerable questions both of Allison and the nurse, and wanted to know who had been there previously.
The nurse had kept no record, but she knew some of the men, and mentioned their names—names to conjure with in the professional world. Even the two great Germans had said it was of no use.
The young man wrinkled his brows in deep thought. "What have you been using?" he inquired, of the nurse.
"Everything. Come here."