“Here,” said the doctor, taking down a book, “here's your Gray.” And turning the leaves, “Here's what happened to Ben Fallows. Read this. And here's the treatment,” pulling down another book and turning to a page, “Read that. I'll make Ben your first patient. There's no money in it, anyway, and you can't kill him. He only needs three things, cleanliness, good cheer, and good food. By and by we'll get him a leg. Here's that Buffalo doctor's catalogue. Take it along. Now, boy, I'll work you, grind you, and you'll go for your first examination next spring.”
“Next spring!” cried Barney, aghast, “not for three years.”
“Three years!” snorted the doctor, “three fiddlesticks! You can do this first examination by next spring.”
“Yes. I could do it,” said Barney slowly.
The doctor cast an admiring glance at the line of jaw on the boy's face.
“But there's the mortgage and there's Dick's college.”
“Dick's college? Why Dick's and not yours?”
The boy's rugged face changed. A tender light fell over it, filling in its cracks and canyons.
“Because—well, because Dick must go through. Dick's clever. He's awful clever.” Pride mingled with the tenderness in look and tone. “Mother wants him to be a minister, and,” he added after a pause, “I do, too.”
The old doctor turned from him, stood looking out of the window a few minutes, and then came back. He put his hands on the boy's shoulders. “I understand, boy,” he said, his great voice vibrating in deep and tender tones, “I, too, had a brother once. Make Dick a minister if you want, but meantime we'll grind the surgeon's knife.”