Tom was a trifle embarrassed at finding Eliza in Dr. Gray's office when he entered, on the next afternoon. The boss packer seemed different than usual; he was much subdued. His cough had disappeared, but in its place he suffered a nervous apprehension; his cheeks were pale, the gloom in his eyes had changed to a lurking uneasiness.
"Just dropped in to say I'm all right again," he announced in an offhand tone.
"That's good!" said Gray. "You don't look well, however."
"I'm feeling fine!" Mr. Slater hunched his shoulders as if the contact of his shirt was irksome to the flesh.
"You'd better let me rub you. Why are you scratching yourself?"
"I ain't scratching."
"You were!" The doctor was sternly curious; he had assumed his coldest and most professional air.
"Well, if I scratched, I probably itched. That's why people scratch, ain't it?"
"Let me look you over."
"I can't spare the time, Doc—"