said Doctor Carey. "Thank you very much for coming to me.
You'll soon be all right again."

"I was some worried. Much obliged I am sure. Come on!"

"One minute," said the doctor. "David, I am making up a list of friends
to whom I am going to send programmes of the medical meeting, and I
thought your wife might like to see you among the speakers, and your
subject. What is her address?"

A slow red flushed the Harvester's cheeks. He opened his lips and
hesitated. At last he said, "I think perhaps her people prefer that she
receive mail under her maiden name while with them. Miss Ruth Jameson,
care of Alexander Herron, 5770 Chestnut Street, Philadelphia, will reach
her."

The doctor wrote the address, as if it were the most usual thing in the
world, and asked the Harvester if he was ready to make the trip east.

"I think we had best start to-night," he said. "We want a day to grow
accustomed to our clothes and new surroundings before we run up squarely
against serious business."

"I will be ready," promised the Harvester.

He took Granny home, set his house in order, installed the man he was
leaving in charge, touched a match to the heap in the fireplace, and
donning the new travelling suit, he went to Doctor Carey's.

Mrs. Carey added a few touches, warned him to remember about the forks
and spoons, and not to forget to shave often, and saw them off. At the
station Carey said to him, "You know, David, we can change at Wayne and
go through Buffalo, or we can take the Pittsburg and go and come through
Philadelphia."

"I am contemplating a trip to Philadelphia," said the Harvester, "but I
believe I will not be ready for, say a month yet. I have a theory and it
dies hard. If it does not work out the coming month, I will go, perhaps,
but not now. Let us see how many kinds of a fool I make of myself in New
York before I attempt the Quakers."

Almost to the city, the doctor smiled at the Harvester.

"David, where did you get your infernal assurance?" he asked.

"In the woods," answered the Harvester placidly. "In doing clean work.
With my fingers in the muck, and life literally teeming and boiling in
sound and action, around, above, and beneath me, a right estimate of my
place and province in life comes naturally in daily handling stores
on which humanity depends, I go even deeper than you surgeons and
physicians. You are powerless unless I reinforce your work with drugs on
which you can rely. I do clean, honest wo