ce and good humor.
He looked directly past the bottle, which is a very valuable
accomplishment, and shook hands with McKnight until I could put the
cigarettes under the bedclothes. He had interdicted tobacco. Then he sat
down beside the bed and felt around the bandages with hands as gentle as
a baby's.

"Pretty good shape," he said. "How did you sleep?"

"Oh, occasionally," I replied. "I would like to sit up, doctor."

"Nonsense. Take a rest while you have an excuse for it. I wish to
thunder I could stay in bed for a day or so. I was up all night."

"Have a drink," McKnight said, pushing over the bottle.

"Twins!" The doctor grinned.

"Have two drinks."

But the medical man refused.

"I wouldn't even wear a champagne-colored necktie during business
hours," he explained. "By the way, I had another case from your
accident, Mr. Blakeley, late yesterday afternoon. Under the tongue,
please." He stuck a thermometer in my mouth.

I had a sudden terrible vision of the amateur detective coming to light,
note-book, cheerful impertinence and incriminating data. "A small man?"
I demanded, "gray hair--"

"Keep your mouth closed," the doctor said peremptorily. "No. A woman,
with a fractured skull. Beautiful case. Van Kirk was up to his eyes and
sent for me. Hemorrhage, right-sided paralysis, irregular pupils--all
the trimmings. Worked for two hours."

"Did she recover?" McKnight put in. He was examining the doctor with a
new awe.

"She lifted her right arm before I left," the doctor finished cheerily,
"so the operation was a success, even if she should die."

"Good Heavens," McKnight broke in, "and I thought you were just an
ordinary mortal, like the rest of us! Let me touch you for luck. Was she
pretty?"

"Yes, and young. Had a wealth of bronze-colored hair. Upon my soul, I
hated to cut it."

McKnight and I exchanged glances.

"Do you know her name, doctor?" I asked.

"No. The nurses said her clothes came from a Pittsburg tailor."

"She is not conscious, I suppose?"

"No; she may be, to-morrow--or in a week."

He looked at the thermometer, murmured something about liquid diet,
avoiding my eye--Mrs. Klopton was broiling a chop at the time--and
took his departure, humming cheerfully as he went down-stairs. McKnight
looked after him wistfully.

"Jove, I wish I had his constitution," he exclaimed. "Neither nerves nor
heart! What a chauffeur he would make!"

But I was serious.

"I have an idea," I said gri