When Mr. Gilchrist had gone, the doctor sat with his hands behind his head. His eyes were very bright, and a flush mantled his cheek. His heart thumped so hard, he could hear it.
"Keep away from excitement, Clay," he could hear the old doctor saying, "excitement eats up your energy and does not give the builders a chance. With care, and patience, you may win—but if you will not save yourself, and nurse yourself, and go slow—you are a dead man!"
He pressed his hands tightly to his head.
"Pearl had been disappointed," Bob had said. It would be a disgrace to let this riding go by default. There was the liquor question which had hung fire for fourteen years, while the Government had simply played with it, and laughed at the temperance people. If women had the vote, what a power Pearl would be!
Still, one vote in Parliament was nothing—one man could do but little—and besides, the old doctor had found him improved—he might be able to beat out the disease yet—by being careful. A campaign would mean late hours, long drives, meeting people—making speeches—which he hated—the worst kind of excitement—to move a vote of thanks tired him more than a week's work.
Still, Pearl would be pleased—he hadn't done much for Pearl. He had won her love—and then had to turn it away—and had seen those eyes of her's cloud in disappointment. It had been a raw deal.
Looking through the window, he saw Bertie, with his team, waiting outside the door. He was letting Bertie take full care of his horses now, and saving himself in that way.
The sorrel horse on the side next him tossed his head, and chewed the bit, with a defiant air that set waves of memory in motion. He had bought this fine four-year-old, because he had reminded him of old Prince—the same color—the same markings, and the same hard mouth and defiant red eye.
Usually, he did not keep Bertie waiting—but this morning it did not matter—there were other things to be decided. The sorrel horse seemed to be looking at him through the office window.
"There was another sorrel horse to take your place, Prince," said the doctor, looking at the big sorrel, but thinking of his predecessor; "although that did not influence you in any way—you left that to me to find out—you considered that my business. I believe I will be safe in leaving it to some one higher up to get another doctor to take my place—doctors—and sorrel horses—there are plenty of them. You had the right philosophy, Prince. No one else could have saved the woman's life—so you did that—and let me rustle for another horse. I'll do the same—after all—it is not individuals who count—it is the race. We do our bit—and pass on. Straight ahead of me seems to be a piece of work I can do—and if I have to pay for the privilege of doing it—I'll pay—without regrets."