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Show nnainniliPUfiflimniniininlinT ),l,t,lMMHtHIMIim'IP""l f ttlTt son, he faced a young and attractive girl, faintly fnmiliar. "We tried to get you by telephone," she explained. "I am from the hospital. hos-pital. Miss Simpson's father died this morning, and she knew you would have to have someone. I was just starting for my vacation, so they sent me." "Rather a poor substitute for a vacation," va-cation," he commented. She was a very pretty girl. lie had seen her before in the hospital, but he had never really noticed how attractive attrac-tive she was. Rather stunning she was, he thought. The combination of yellow hair nnd dark eyes was unusual. He remembered, just in time, to express ex-press regret at Miss Simpson's bereavement. into an envelope, Indorsed it in his illegible hand. He heard his brother's step on the stairs, and Doctor Ed made haste to put away the last vestige of his little operation. Ed's lapses from surgical cleanliness were a sore trial to the younger man, fresh from the clinics of Europe. In his downtown office, of-fice, to which he would presently make his leisurely progress, he wore a white coat, and sterilized things of which Doctor Ed did not even know the names. Max paused at the office door. "At it already," he said. "Or have you been to bed?" "It's after nine," protested Ed mildly. mild-ly. "If I don't start early, I never get through." Max yawned. jf In order to piece out financial needs, Sidney Page, her mother fj H and her Aunt Harriet take K. LeMoyne, a strange young man, as a 8 8 roomer. Sidney, aged eighteen, and Joe Drummond, aged twenty-one, S H childhood sweethearts, have agreed to marry "after years and years," fi H but the girl's promise wavers on better acquaintance with the raomer H p and after Aunt Harriet opens a dressmaking shop downtown. She g $t decides to become a trained nurse and goes to her friend, Dr. Ed II Wilson, across the street, for influence with his brother Max, brilliant g $ surgeon, to get her into the hospital. Things now bein to happen . 8 the plot to unroll ; the mystery to deepen. J "I am Miss Harrison," explained the substitute, and held out his long white coat. The ceremony, purely perfunctory perfunc-tory with Miss Simpson on duty, proved interesting, Miss Harrison, in spite of her high heels, being small and the young surgeon tall. When he was finally final-ly in the coat, she was rather Hushed and palpitating. "But I knew your name, of course," lied Doctor Max. "Aud I'm sorry about the vacation." After that came work. Miss Harrison Har-rison was nimble and alert, but the surgeon sur-geon worked quickly and with few words, was impatient when she could "Better come with me," he said. "If things go on as they've been doing, I'll have to have an assistant. I'd rather have you than anybody, of course." He put his lithe surgeon's hand on his brother's shoulder. "Where would I be if it hadn't been for you? All the fellows know what you've done." In spite of himself, Ed winced. It wns one thing to work hard that there might be one success instead of two half successes. It was a different thing to advertise one's inferiority to the world. His sphere of the Street and the neighborhood was his own. To give it all up and become his younger brother's assistant even if it meant, as it would, better hours and more money would be to submerge his identity. He could not bring himself to do it. "I guess I'll stay where I am," he said. "They know me around here, and I know them. By the way, will you leave this envelope at Mrs. Mc-Kee's? Mc-Kee's? Maggie Rosenfeld is ironing there today. It's for her." Mas took the envelope absently. "You'll go on here to the end of your days, working for a pittance," he objected. ob-jected. "Inside of ten years there'll be no general practitioners ; then where will you be?" "I'll manage somehow," said the brother placidly. "I guess there will always be a few that can pay my prices better than what you specialists ask." Max laughed with genuine amusement. amuse-ment. "I dare say, if this is the way you let them pay your prices." He held out the envelope, and the older man colored. is lias's I Hit r: w CHAPTER III. Continued. Only a week and love was one of the things he had to give up, with others. Not, of course, that he was in love with Sidney then. But he had been desperately lonely, and, for all her practical clearheadedness, she was softly and appealingly feminine. By way of keeping his head, he talked suddenly sud-denly and earnestly of Mrs. McKee, and food, and Tillie, and of Mr. Wagner Wag-ner and the pencil pad. "It's like a game," he said. "We disagree on everything, especially Mexico. Mex-ico. If you ever tried to spell those Mexican names " "Why did you think I was engaged?" en-gaged?" she insisted. Now, in K.'s walk of life that walk of life where there are no toothpicks young girls did not receive the attention atten-tion of one young man to the exclusion of others unless they were engaged. But he could hardly say that. "Oh, I don't know. Those things get in the air." "It's Johnny Rosenfeld," said Sidney, Sid-ney, with decision. "It's horrible, the way things get about. Because Joe sent me a box of roses As a matter of fact, I'm not engaged, or going to be, Mr. Le Moyne. I'm going into a hospital to be a nurse." Le Moyne said nothing. For just a moment he closed his eyes. A man is in rather a bad way when, every time he closes his eyes, he sees the same thing, especially if it is rather terrible. When it gets to a point where he lies awake at night and reads, for fear of closing them "You're too young, aren't you?" "Doctor Ed one of the Wilsons across the Street is going to help me about that. His brother Max is a big surgeon there. I expect you've heard of him. We're very proud of him in the Street." Lucky for K. Le Moyne that the moon no longer shone on the low, gray doorstep, that Sidney's mind had traveled trav-eled far away to shining floors and rows of white beds. "Life in the raw," Doctor Ed had said that other afternoon. Closer to her than the hospital hos-pital was life in the raw that night. So, even here, on this quiet street in this distant city, there was to be no peace. Max Wilson just across the way ! It it was ironic. Was there no place where a man could lose himself? He would have to move on again, of course. But that, it seemed, was just what he could not do. For : "I want to ask you something, and I hope you'll be quite frank," said Sidney. Sid-ney. "Anything that I can do " "It's this. If you are comfortable, and and like the room and all that, I makes. She'd like to have the parlor and sitting room behind. They wouldn't interfere with you at all," she added hastily. "Christine's father would build a little balcony on the side for them, a sort of porch, and they'd sit there in the evenings." Behind Sidney's carefully practical tone the man read appeal. Never before be-fore had he realized how narrow the girl's world had been. The Street, with but one dimension bounded it ! In her perplexity she was appealing to him who was practically a stranger. And he knew then that he must do the thing she asked. He, who had fled so long, could roam no more. Here on the Street, with its menace just across, he must live, that she might work. In his world men had worked that women might live in certain places, certain ways. This girl was going out to earn her living, and he would stay to make it possible. But no hint of all this was in his voice. "I shall stay, of course," he said gravely. "I this is the nearest thing to home that I've known for a long time. I want you to know that." "You are very good to me," said Sidney. Sid-ney. When she rose, K. Le Moyne sprang to his feet. Anna had noticed that he always rose when she entered his room with fresh towels on Katie's day out, for instance in-stance and she liked him for it. Years ago the men she had known had shown this courtesy to their women ; but the Street regarded such things as affectation. affecta-tion. "I wonder if you would do me another an-other favor? I'm afraid you'll take to avoiding me, if I keep on." "I don't think you need fear that." "This stupid story about Joe Drummond Drum-mond I'm not saying I'll never marry him, but I'm certainly not engaged. Now and then, when you are taking your evening walks, if you would ask me to walk with you " K. looked rather dazed. "I can't imagine anything pleasant-er; pleasant-er; but I wish you'd explain just how " Sidney smiled at him. As he stood on the lowest itep their eyes were almost level. "If I walk with you they'll know I'm not engaged to Joe," she said, with engaging en-gaging directness. The house was quiet. He waited in the lower hall until she had reached the top of the staircase. For some curious curi-ous reason, in the time to come, that was the way Sidney always remembered remem-bered K. Le Moyne standing in the little hall, one' hand upstretched to shut off the gas overhead, and his eyes on hers above. "Good night," said K. Le Moyne. And all the things he had put out of his life were in his voice. Very proud of Doctor Max was his brother, unselfishly proud, of his skill, of his handsome person, of his easy good manners ; very humble, too, of his own knowledge and experience. If he ever suspected any lack of finer fiber in Max, he put the thought away. Probably he was too rigid himself. Max was young, a hard worker. He had a right to play hard. He prepared his black bag for the day's calls stethoscope, thermometer, eye-cup, bandages, case of small vials, a lump of absorbent cotton in a not overf resh towel ; in the bottom, a heterogeneous het-erogeneous collection of instruments, a roll of adhesive plaster, a bottle or two of sugar-of-milk tablets for the children, a dog collar that had belonged be-longed to a dead collie, and had got in the bag in some curious fashion and there remained. He prepared the bag a little nervously, nerv-ously, while Max ate. He felt that modern methods and the best usage might not have approved of the bag. On his way out he paused at the dining-room door. "Are you going to the hospital?" "Operating at four wish you could He Faced a Young and Attractive Girl, not find the things he called for, even broke into restrained profanity now and then. She went a little pale over her mistakes, but preserved her dignity dig-nity and her wits. Now and then he found her dark eyes fixed on him, with something inscrutable but pleasing In their depths. The situation was rathei piquant. Once, during the cleaning up between be-tween cases, he dropped to a personality. person-ality. He was drying his hands, while she placed freshly-sterilized instruments instru-ments on a glass table. "You are almost a foreign type, Miss Harrison. Last year, in a Loudon ballet, bal-let, I saw a blonde Spanish girl who looked like you." "My mother was a Spaniard." She did not look up. Where Miss Simpson was In the habit of clumping through the morning in flat, heavy shoes, Miss Harrison's small heels beat a busy tattoo on the tiled floor. With the rustling of her starched dress, the sound was essentially essen-tially feminine, almost insistent'. WheD he had time to notice It, it amused him that he did not find it annoying. Once, as she passed him a bistoury, he deliberately placed his fine hand over her fingers and smiled into her eyes. It was play for him ; it lightened the day's work. Sidney was In the waiting room. There had been no tedium in the morning's morn-ing's waiting. Like all imaginallve people, peo-ple, she had the gift of dramatizing herself. her-self. She was seeing herself In white from head to foot, like this efficient young woman who came now und then to the waiting-room door. "Doctor Wilson will see you now." She followed Miss Harrison into the consulting room. Doctor Max not the gloved and hatted Doctor Max of the Street, but a new person, one she had never known stood In his white office, tall, dark-eyed, dark-haired, competent, holding out his long, immaculate surgeon's sur-geon's hand and smiling down at her. ff What reason do you think K. l Le Moyne has for needing to ?f keep away from Doctor Max f H does Le Moyne seem to you to i H be some kind of a crook? P I (TO BK COJVTJ.NUElJ.) 1.1 '.J .-V come in." "I'm afraid not, Max. I've promised Sidney Page to speak about her to you. She wants to enter the training school." "Too young," said Max briefly. "Why, she can't be over sixteen." "She's eighteen." "Well, even eighteen. Do you think any girl of that age is responsible enough to have life and death put in her hands? Besides, although I haven't noticed her lately, she used to be a pretty little thing. There is no use filling up the wards with a lot of ornaments ; it keeps the internes all stewed up." 1 "Since when," asked Doctor Ed mildly, mild-ly, "have you found good looks in a girl a handicap?" In the end they compromised. Max would see Sidney at his office. It would he better than having her run across the Street would put things on the right footing. For, if he did have her admitted, she would have to learn at once that he was no longer "Doctor Max;" that, as a matter of fact, he was now staff, and entitled to much dignity, to speech without contradiction con-tradiction or argument, to clean towels, tow-els, and a deferential interne at his elbow. Down the clean steps went Doctor Max that morning, a big man, almost as tall as K. Le Moyne, eager of life, strong and a bit reckless, not line, perhaps, per-haps, but not evil. He had the same zest of living as Sidney, but with this difference the girl stood ready to give herself to life: he knew that life would come to him. All-dominating male was Doctor Max, as he stepped into his car and made his way to his office. Here were people who believed in him, from the middle-aged nurse in her prim uniform uni-form to the row of patients sitting stiffly around the walls of the waiting room. Doctor Max drew a long breath. This was the real thing work and plenty of It, a chance to show the other men what he could do, a battle to win ! No humanitarian was he, but a fighter each day he came to his office with the same battle lust. The office nurse had her back to him. When she turned, he faced an agreeable agree-able surprise. Instead of Miss Slmp- CHAPTER IV. On the morning after Sidney had invited in-vited K. Le Moyne to take her to walk, Max Wilson came down to breakfast rather late. Doctor Ed had breakfasted breakfast-ed an hour before, and had already attended, with much profanity on the part of the patient, to a boil on the back of Mr. Rosenfeld's neck. "Better change your laundry," cheerfully cheer-fully advised Doctor Ed, cutting a strip of adhesive plaster. "Your neck's irritated irri-tated from your white collars." Rosenfeld eyed him suspiciously, but, possessing a sense of humor also, he grinned. "It ain't my everyday things that bother me," he replied. "It's my blankety-blank dress suit. But if a man wants to be tony " Mr. Rosenfeld buttoned up the blue flannel shirt which, with a pair of Doctor Doc-tor Ed's cast-off trousers, was his only wear, and fished in his pocket. "How much, Doc?" "Two dollars," said Doctor Ed briskly. brisk-ly. "Holy cats ! For one jab of a knife ! My old woman works a day and a half for two dollars." "I guess it's worth two dollars to you to be able to sleep on your back." He was imperturbably straightening his small glass table. He knew Rosenfeld. Rosen-feld. "If you don't like my price, I'll lend you the knife next time, and you can let your wife attend to you." Rosenfeld drew out a silver dollar, and followed it reluctantly with a limp and dejected dollar bill. "There's times," he said, "when, If you'd put me and the missus and a knife in the same room, you wouldn't have much left but the knife." Doctor Ed waited until he had made his stiff-necked exit. Then he took the two dollars, and, putting the money "Why Did You Think I Was Engaged?" She Insisted. wish you'd stay." She hurried on: "If I could feel that mother had a dependable de-pendable person like you in the house, it would all be easier." Dependable ! That stung. "But forgive my asking ; I'm really Interested can your mother manage? You'll get practically no money during your training." "I've thought of that. A friend of mine, Christine Lorenz, is going to be married. Her people are wealthy, but the'll have nothing but what Palmer |