It was a strange word, and Dr. Lowell was visibly abashed. He fidgeted, made a feeble joke, and then looked sharply at Mary's unwonted colour and bright eyes.
"What's the matter? You're not going to—sure you feel perfectly well, Mary?"
"Why, yes.... But Laurence isn't. I wish you'd drop in and see him. He'll be home tomorrow night. Suppose you come to dinner and take a look at him."
"What ails him?"
"He complains of headaches lately and he looks—well, you'll see. Keeps right on working, though. You'll come? The boys always want to see you too, you know."
"Well, they do. They drop in here quite often—especially Jim. I think maybe we might make a doctor of Jim."
"You do?" Mary's eyes opened wide. "Has he shown any interest that way? He never said a word to me about it."
"Yes, we've talked it over. He is interested. He takes to science. Has a good mind, that boy—kind of slow, but thorough. Likes to get to the bottom of things. He could work hard if he was interested."
"Well!" Mary pondered this. Then she said, "I've been worried about him—he runs around at night and won't tell me where he goes."