worried. I have never seen him so worried even
over mother, and he doesn't seem worried about her now. Oh, James, she
is suffering frightfully, I know." Clemency gave a little sob. Then
Gordon's voice was heard calling imperiously, "Elliot, come along!"
James kissed the poor little face tenderly, and whispered that she must
not worry, that probably the powders would relieve her mother, and then
that she herself had better lie down and try to get a little sleep, and
hurried out.

Gordon was seated in the buggy, waiting for him. "I don't want to lose
any time," he said brusquely as James got in beside him. "Even a few
minutes sometimes work awful changes in a case like this. If he is no
worse I will leave you with him, and make a call on Mrs. Wells. I
haven't seen her to-day, and yesterday it looked like pneumonia, then
there is that child with diphtheria at the Atwaters'. I ought to go
there myself, but if he is worse you will have to go, and to a few
others, and I must stay with him."

Gordon drove furiously. Heads appeared at windows; people on the street
turned faces of wonder and alarm after him. It was soon noised about
Alton that there had been a terrible accident, that somebody was at the
point of death, but of that Gordon and James knew nothing.

When they arrived at the hotel, Gordon, after he had tied his horse,
took his medicine-case, and, followed by James, entered, and went
directly upstairs to a large room at the back of the hotel. This room
was somewhat isolated in position, having a corridor on one side and
linen closets on another, it being a corner apartment with two outer
walls. Gordon opened the door softly and entered with James behind him.
The bed stood between the two west windows. It was a northwest room. The
afternoon sun had not yet reached it. It was furnished after the usual
fashion of country hotel bedrooms. It was clean and sparse, and the
furniture had the air of having a past, of having witnessed almost
everything which occurs to humanity. It seemed battered and stained,
though not with wear, but with humanity. The old-fashioned black walnut
bedstead in which the sick man lay seemed to have a thousand voices of
experiences. A great piece was broken off one corner of the footboard.
The wound in the wood looked sinister. Directly opposite the bed stood
the black walnut bureau, with its swung glass. The glass was cracked
diagonally, and reflected the bed and its occupant with an air of
ex