That smile of Doctor Galen's seemed to envelop Fox in an atmosphere of kindliness. "You'll send one, Doctor?" he asked doubtfully.
"How do you suppose, sir," said the doctor, smiling more than ever,—he seemed really amused, that doctor,—"how do you suppose, sir, that I should pay my grocer, otherwise? You have put yourself into the clutches of a specialist, Mr. Sanderson. We are terrible fellows. You are lucky to escape with your life."
"Well," Fox replied, laughing, "I thank you again, Doctor, at any rate; and for letting me escape with my life."
The doctor let him out by a door that did not open into the outer office.
"Let me know how you come on with your schemes," the doctor said. "I am really interested. And, if you find it possible to give me a half-hour with your patient, I hope you will do so. It will be much better. Good-bye, Mr. Sanderson."
"I will," said Fox. "Good-bye, Doctor."
The doctor shut the door and touched a button on his desk. He was still smiling. A nurse appeared noiselessly.
"A nice boy, that, Miss Mather, and a deserving case," he commented. "I should be glad to be able to believe that all my patients were as deserving. But I shouldn't make much," he added.
Miss Mather smiled, but made no other reply. The doctor was looking over a little pile of cards. He took up the card from the top of the pile.
"Mrs. Van Hoofe, Miss Mather."