"Uncle Brome, too? When he makes several hundred thousand dollars in Consolidated Iron, every clerk, every little man who knows anything about it has all his bad, greedy, envious passions aroused."
The doctor smiled at the serious manner in which the young woman explored the old ground of their differences.
"But," she concluded, "they aren't all like Mr. Carson and Uncle
Brome. You mustn't make that mistake. And Uncle Brome is so generous, too.
It is hard to understand."
"No," Sommers said, preparing to leave. "Of course they are not all alike, and it is hard to judge. No man knows what he is doing—to any great extent."
"What will you do?" Miss Hitchcock asked abruptly.
As Sommers's careworn face flushed, she added hurriedly,—"How cruel of me!
Of course you don't know. That will settle itself."
"I have had some notion of trying for a hospital again. It doesn't take much to live. And I don't believe in a doctor's making money. If it isn't the hospital—well, there's enough to do."
Miss Hitchcock thought a moment, and then remarked unexpectedly, "I like that idea!"
"About all my kick over things has come to that point. There are some people who should be willing to—no, not willing, who should want to do things without any pay. The world needs them. Most people are best off in the struggle for bread, but the few who see how—unsatisfying that end is, should be willing to work without profits. Good-by."
As they shook hands, Sommers added casually: "I shouldn't wonder if I went away from Chicago—for a time. I don't know now, but I'll let you know, if you care to have me."