Part 13 (2/2)

Philip laughed as the little man hopped to the stove and began rubbing his hands.

”Hurt,” he said. ”If you weren't four hundred miles from nowhere I'd say that you were a doctor.”

”So I am,” said the other. ”Edward Wallace Boffin, M.D., 900 North Wabash Avenue, Chicago.”

Chapter XIII. The Great Love Experiment

For a full half minute after the other's words Philip stared in astonishment. Then, with a joyful shout, he suddenly reached out his hand across the stove.

”By thunder,” he cried, ”you're from home!”

”Home!” exclaimed the other. There was a startled note in his voice.

”You're--you're a Chicago man?” he asked, staring strangely at Philip and gripping his hand at the same time.

”Ever hear of Steele--Philip Egbert Steele? I'm his son.”

”Good Heavens!” drawled the doctor, gazing still harder at him and pinching the ice from his beard, ”what are you doing up here?”

”Prodigal son,” grinned Philip. ”Waiting for the calf to get good and fat. What are you doing?”

”Making a fool of myself,” replied the doctor, looking at the top of the stove and rubbing his hands until his fingers snapped.

At the North Pole, if they had met there, Philip would have known him for a professional man. His heavy woolen suit was tailor made. He wore a collar and a fas.h.i.+onable tie. A lodge signet dangled at his watch chain. He was clean-shaven and his blond Van d.y.k.e beard was immaculately trimmed. Everything about him, from the top of his head to the bottom of his laced boots, shouted profession, even in the Arctic snow. He might have gone farther and guessed that he was a physician--a surgeon, perhaps--from his hands, and from the supple manner in which he twisted his long white fingers about one another over the stove. He was a man of about forty, with a thin sensitive face, strong rather than handsome, and remarkable eyes. They were not large, nor far apart, but were like twin dynamos, reflecting the life of the man within. They were the sort of eyes which Philip had always a.s.sociated with great mental power.

The doctor had now finished rubbing his hands, and, unb.u.t.toning his under coat, he drew a small silver cigarette case from his waistcoat pocket.

”They're not poison,” he smiled, opening it and offering the cigarettes to Philip. ”I have them made especially for myself.” A sound outside the door made him pause with a lighted match between his fingers. ”How about dogs and Indian?” he asked. ”May they come in?”

Philip began hobbling toward the door.

”So exciting to meet a man from home that I forgot all about 'em,” he exclaimed.

With three or four quick steps the doctor overtook him and caught him by the arm.

”Just a moment,” he said quickly. ”How far is Fort Smith from here?”

”About sixty miles.”

”Do you suppose I could get there without--his a.s.sistance?”

”If you're willing to bunk here for a few days--yes,” said Philip. ”I'm going on to Fort Smith myself as soon as I am able to walk.”

An expression of deep relief came into the doctor's eyes.

”That's just what I want, Steele,” he exclaimed, unfeignedly delighted at Philip's suggestion. ”I'm not well, and I require a little rest. Call him in.”

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