dio at Paris, and had done solid work. The
doctor had felt encouraged with his experiment and treated him
liberally.

This was only one of a number of similar experiments in young life
that the doctor carried on silently. Earlier in life than most men, he
had had the yearning to see others go where fate had forbidden him. A
number of young doctors, studying in Berlin or Vienna, and some young
scientists scattered over the country owed their freedom to his
liberality. He selected his material here and there, without much
apparent discrimination, but one test existed, known only to the
doctor, a test that was strangely sentimental, and yet shrewd.

Long's interests had been outside his field, but the tenderness he had
felt for the father caused him to make this exception. He had not made
a mistake, however. Long had exhibited at Berlin and Munich, and had
begun to sell his work a little. He was already spoken of by the
international press as a promising young American artist. This summer
he was at home, sketching in a village not far away, and the end of
the day found him quite frequently at the doctor's dinner-table.

The doctor liked him. He had bought Long's first picture in the Salon
and had procured him patrons. He took him off on his yacht whenever he
had a chance, and the more he saw of the young man the more he was
ready to bet on his future. "There is so much that is clean and
wholesome in him," he observed to his wife. "He has managed to live
over there without catching their cheap bohemianism." Mrs. Thornton
felt at liberty to encourage Addington Long's intimacy at the house.
But he would not do for a son-in-law; there would be two tragedies
instead of one. So when Mrs. Thornton suggested that he should be
asked for a visit during September, the doctor put the question off
with irrelevant excuses; they had had too many people; September was
his time for a rest; young Long should be getting down to hard work,
not loafing in a comfortable cottage.

One evening toward the middle of the summer the doctor came home later
than usual, and, wearied with his day's driving, he got out of his
carriage and let himself into his grounds by the shore path. The
evening wind was puffing casually across the bay; in the cottage above
the lamps were being lit. The doctor walked slowly, thoughtfully,
picking his way in and out of the shrubbery, thinking vaguely of the
day's work, the cases visited, the cases to be visited on th