ey knew that Sidney had received a dozen Killarney roses at three
dollars and a half, and was probably engaged to Joe Drummond.

"Dr. Ed," said Sidney, as he followed her down the stairs, "can you
spare the time to talk to me a little while?"

Perhaps the elder Wilson had a quick vision of the crowded office
waiting across the Street; but his reply was prompt:

"Any amount of time."

Sidney led the way into the small parlor, where Joe's roses, refused by
the petulant invalid upstairs, bloomed alone.

"First of all," said Sidney, "did you mean what you said upstairs?"

Dr. Ed thought quickly.

"Of course; but what?"

"You said I was a born nurse."

The Street was very fond of Dr. Ed. It did not always approve of him.
It said--which was perfectly true--that he had sacrificed himself to his
brother's career: that, for the sake of that brilliant young surgeon,
Dr. Ed had done without wife and children; that to send him abroad
he had saved and skimped; that he still went shabby and drove the old
buggy, while Max drove about in an automobile coupe. Sidney, not at
all of the stuff martyrs are made of, sat in the scented parlor and,
remembering all this, was ashamed of her rebellion.

"I'm going into a hospital," said Sidney.

Dr. Ed waited. He liked to have all the symptoms before he made a
diagnosis or ventured an opinion. So Sidney, trying to be cheerful, and
quite unconscious of the anxiety in her voice, told her story.

"It's fearfully hard work, of course," he commented, when she had
finished.

"So is anything worth while. Look at the way you work!"

Dr. Ed rose and wandered around the room.

"You're too young."

"I'll get older."

"I don't think I like the idea," he said at last. "It's splendid work
for an older woman. But it's life, child--life in the raw. As we get
along in years we lose our illusions--some of them, not all, thank God.
But for you, at your age, to be brought face to face with things as
they are, and not as we want them to be--it seems such an unnecessary
sacrifice."

"Don't you think," said Sidney bravely, "that you are a poor person to
talk of sacrifice? Haven't you always, all your life--"

Dr. Ed colored to the roots of his straw-colored hair.

"Certainly not," he said almost irritably. "Max had genius; I
had--ability. That's different. One real success is better than two
halves. Not"--he smiled down at her--"not that I minimize my usefulness.
Somebody has to do the hack-wo