"Well," he said to himself, "that was pretty good pay, considering. But it's just as well that the Mrs. Van Hoofes don't—Hello!"
For there, before him, was Professor Ladue, walking rapidly, his eyes red and bloodshot, and looking generally tousled. The doctor glanced at him, took in these details, and decided quickly that it would be wiser not to speak. Accordingly, he passed the professor with no more than a bow. The professor glared at him, bowed shortly, then half turned.
"A lovely spring afternoon, Doctor," he said, clearly and coldly, with the grimace which did duty for a smile. It was even less like one than usual.
"Charming!" the doctor replied.
"I should not suppose," continued the professor, almost snarling, "that a man of your engagements would have time for profitless excursions into the country."
"Ah," the doctor returned, smiling, "but it was not profitless. I have been to a birthday party; the party of Miss Sally Ladue."
What reply should the professor have made to that? The professor, at least, did not know. He turned, again, without a word.
Doctor Galen looked after him, still smiling. Then he, too, turned again. "I am sorry for Sally," he murmured, sighing. "But Sanderson is there. He must get her out of it somehow."
Sanderson could not get her out of it, as it happened. The little bunch of guests was halfway down the walk, laughing and talking; even Sally laughed a little, although she did not talk much, and her eye was alert for anybody who might come in at the gate. She hoped, fervently, that nobody would come in at that gate until the girls were out of it and safe at home. Then her father emerged from behind the screen of bushes along the wall and swung the gate wide.
Sally gave one look. "Oh, Fox!" she cried.