edly,
as he bent over with less than his usual caution, the vertebra slipped
out; and Lane found his body twisted like a letter S. And the old pain
was no less terrible for its familiarity.

He got back to his bed and called his mother. She sent for Doctor
Bronson. He came at once, and though solicitous and kind he lectured
Lane for neglecting the osteopathic treatment he had advised. And he
sent his chauffeur for an osteopath.

"Lane," said the little physician, peering severely down upon him, "I
didn't think you'd last as long as this."

"I'm tough, Doctor--hard to kill," returned Lane, making a wry face.
"But I couldn't stand this pain long."

"It'll be easier presently. We can fix that spine. Some good
treatments to strengthen ligaments, and a brace to wear--we can fix
that.... Lane, you've wonderful vitality."

"A doctor in France told me that."

"Except for your mental condition, you're in better shape now than
when you came home." Doctor Bronson peered at Lane from under his
shaggy brows, walked to the window, looked out, and returned,
evidently deep in thought.

"Boy, what's on your mind?" he queried, suddenly.

"Oh, Lord! listen to him," sighed Lane. Then he laughed. "My dear
Doctor, I have nothing on my mind--absolutely nothing.... This world
is a beautiful place. Middleville is fine, clean, progressive. People
are kind--thoughtful--good. What could I have on my mind?"

"You can't fool me. You think the opposite of what you say.... Lane,
your heart is breaking."

"No, Doctor. It broke long ago."

"You believe so, but it didn't. You can't give up.... Lane, I want to
tell you something. I'm a prohibitionist myself, and I respect the
law. But there are rare cases where whiskey will effect a cure. I say
that as a physician. And I am convinced now that your case is one
where whiskey might give you a fighting chance."

"Doctor! What're you saying?" ejaculated Lane, wide-eyed with
incredulity.

Doctor Bronson enlarged upon and emphasized his statement.

"I might _live_!" whispered Lane. "My God!... But that is ridiculous.
I'm shot to pieces. I'm really tired of living. And I certainly
wouldn't become a drunkard to save my life."

At this juncture the osteopath entered, putting an end to that
intimate conversation. Doctor Bronson explained the case to his
colleague. And fifteen minutes later Lane's body was again straight.
Also he was wringing wet with cold sweat and quivering in every
muscle.