“Oh, no,” he replied politely. “It was a very good dinner. It is true that some hours ago it might have been better, but our appetites would not have been the same. Any food is good to a hungry man. Your father and I have often dined on bread and cheese, and pilsner, and thought it a feast.”
“You were poor there at the University?” she inquired curiously. Somehow she found it difficult to think of him as ever having been poor; he was so completely marked with the stamp of worldly success.
“Very poor,” he answered gayly, for it had been a long time ago, and poverty leaves few scars on the heart of a man who has conquered it. “So poor,” he continued, “that we owned nothing in all the world, not even a trouble. We lived together four, no, three years, wasn’t it, Martin?”
“Three years, Paul.”
“What we had we shared,” he turned again to Lola. “Books, clothes, money, tobacco, and happiness. I made much money later, because I had nothing better to do. Your father was wiser than I, but now Martin, when money is coming to you, you can do much for this little one.”
“You mean his lecture to-morrow night?” asked Lola. “It is very flattering, of course, that the Medical Society should want to listen to him, but he isn’t going to be paid for it.”
“It will bring fame, Lola, and fame, especially here in your country, means money. Have you much to do before to-morrow night, Martin?”
“More than I like to think of,” replied the Doctor. “My mind should be fresh and clear, and how can it be if I must spend all to-morrow running errands?”
“Could I help you?” asked John. “I could find an hour or so in the morning.”
“I think not, and yet I am not sure. Would you be willing to call at Karn & Company’s, on Thirty-first Street, and pay my bill and see that my apparatus is sent to the Medical Society?”