those very renowned men who sometimes came
to see Dr. Gunstone and who were not to be refused. He ran up the stairs
and timidly knocked at the doctor's door. Millard waited five minutes in
a small reception-room, and then the old doctor came down, kindly,
dignified, unruffled as ever, a man courteous to all, friendly with all,
but without any familiars.

"Good-morning, Mr. Millard. I can't see your patient now. Every moment
of my time to-day is engaged. Perhaps I might contrive to see the child
on my way to the hospital at twelve."

"If I could have a carriage here at the moment you finish your
breakfast, with my valet in it to see that no time is lost, could you
give us advice, and get back here before your office hours begin?"

Dr. Gunstone hesitated a moment. "Yes," he said; "but you would want a
doctor in the vicinity. I can not come often enough to take charge of
the case."

"We'll call any one you may name. The family are poor, I am interested
in them, they are relatives of mine, and this child I have set my heart
on saving, and I will not mind expense. I wish you to come every day as
consultant, if possible."

Dr. Gunstone's was a professional mind before all. He avoided those
profound questions of philosophy toward which modern science propels the
mind, limiting himself to the science of pathology and the art of
healing. On the other hand, he habitually bounded his curiosity
concerning his patients to their physical condition and such of their
surroundings as affected for good or ill their chances of recovery. He
did not care to know more of this poor family than that he was to see a
patient there; but he knew something of Millard from the friendly
relations existing between him and younger members of his own family,
and the disclosure that Millard had kinsfolk in Avenue C, and was deeply
interested in people of a humble rank, gave Dr. Gunstone a momentary
surprise, which, however, it would have been contrary to all his habits
to manifest. He merely bowed a polite good-morning and turned toward the
breakfast-room.

These men, in whose lives life and death are matters of hourly
business--matters of bread and butter and bank-account--acquire in
self-defense a certain imperviousness; they learn to shed their
responsibilities with facility in favor of digestion and sleep. Dr.
Gunstone ate in a leisurely way, relishing his chops and coffee, and
participating in the conversation of the family, who joined him on