Part 3 (1/2)

”Too much! That is not possible. Did n't you order last year's trip to Florida and the summer yachting cruise?”

Doctor Heath groaned. ”I'm getting in deeper and deeper, John; you can't understand, because you are you; born and bred as you are-- Look here, John, did it ever occur to you that Hazel is a little hot-house plant that needs hardening?”

”No, Richard.”

”Well, she is; she needs hardening to make her any kind of a woman physically and, and--” The Doctor stopped short. There were some things of which he rarely spoke.

”My Hazel needs hardening!” exclaimed the amazed father. ”Why, Richard, have n't you impressed upon me again and again that she needs the greatest care?”

The Doctor groaned again and smote his friend solidly on the knee.

”Oh, you poor rich--you poor rich! 'Eyes have ye, and ye see not; ears have ye, and hear not.' John, the girl must go away from you, who over-indulge her, from this home-nest of luxury, from this private-school business and dancing-cla.s.s dissipation, from her young-grown-up lunch-parties and matinee-parties, from her violin lessons and her indoor gymnastics--curse them!”

This was a great deal for the usually self-contained physician, and Mr.

Clyde stared at him, but half comprehending.

”Go away? Do you mean, Richard, that she must leave me?”

”Yes, I mean just that.”

”Well,”--it was a long-drawn, thinking ”well,”--”I will ask my sister to take her this summer. She returns from Egypt soon and has just written me she intends to open her place, 'The Wyndes,' in June.”

Again the Doctor groaned: ”And kill her with golf and picnics and coaching among all those fas.h.i.+onable b.u.t.terflies! Now, hear to me, John,” he laid his hand on his friend's shoulder, ”send her away into the country, that is country,--something, by the way, which you know precious little about. Let me find her a place up among those life-giving Green Hills, and do you do without her for one year. Let me prescribe for her there; and I 'll guarantee she returns to you hale and hearty. Trust her to me, John; you 'll thank me in the end. I can do no more for her here.”

”Do you mean, Richard, to put her away into real country conditions?”

”Yes, just that; into a farmer's family, if possible,--and I know I can make it possible,--and let her be as one of them, work, play, go barefoot, eat, sleep, be merry--in fact, be what the Lord intended her to be; and you 'll find out that is something very different from what she is, if only you 'll hear to me.”

The Doctor was pacing the room in his earnestness. He was not accustomed to beg thus to be allowed to prescribe for his patients. His one word was law, and he was not required to explain his motives.

Mr. Clyde's eyes followed him; then he broke the prolonged silence.

”Richard, you have asked me the one thing to which her mother would never have consented. How, then, can I?”

”Think it over, John, and let me know.”

The two men clasped hands.

”Let me take you along in my cab to the reception; it's inhuman to take out your horses on such a night.”

”Thank you, no; I think I 'll give it up; I 'm not in the mood for it.

Good-night, old fellow.”

”Good-night, Johnny.”

The next morning, at breakfast, the Doctor took up a note that lay beside his plate, and after reading it beamed joyously while he stirred his coffee vigorously without drinking it. When, finally, he looked up, his wife elevated her eyebrows over the top of the coffee urn, and the Doctor laughed.

”To be sure, wifie, read the note.” And this is what she read:--