servant."

"Is he?"

"Yes, and must wait on you."

At this he doubtfully shook his head, and he continued to watch the
porter until assured that he was not offended, and then timidly
offered to shake hands with him.

When bed-time came young Witherspoon refused to take off his clothes.
He was afraid that some one might steal them, and no argument served
to reassure him; and even after he had lain down, with his clothes on,
he took off a red neck-tie which he had insisted upon wearing, and for
greater security put it into his pocket. DeGolyer lay beside him, and
for a time Witherspoon was quiet, but suddenly he rose up and began to
mutter.

"What's the matter, Henry?"

"Not Henry--Hank. Henry's dead."

"Well, what's the matter, Hank?"

"Want my hat."

"It's up there. We'll get it in the morning."

"Want it now."

DeGolyer got his hat for him, and he lay with it on his breast. How
dragging a night it was! Would the train never run from under the
darkness out into the light of day? And sometimes, when the train
stopped, DeGolyer fancied that it had run ahead of night and
perversely was waiting for the darkness to catch up. The end was
coming, and what an end it might be!

The day was dark and rainy; the landscape was a flat dreariness. A
buzzard flapped his heavy wings and flew from a dead tree; a yelping
dog ran after the train; a horse, turned out to die, stumbled along a
stumpy road.

It was evening when the train reached Chicago. DeGolyer and young
Witherspoon took a cab and were driven to a hospital. The case was
explained to the physician in charge. He said that the mental trouble
might not be due to any permanent derangement of the brain; it was
evident that he had not been treated properly. The patient's nervous
system was badly shattered. The case was by no means hopeless. He
could not determine the length of time it might require to restore him
to physical health, which meant, he thought, a mental cure as well.

"Three months?" DeGolyer asked.

"That long, at least."

"I will leave him with you, and I urge you not to stop short of the
highest medical skill that can be procured in either this country or
in Europe. As to who this young man is or may turn out to be, that
must be kept as a secret. I will call every day. Henry"--

"Hank."

"All right, Hank. Now, I'm going to leave you here, but I'll be back
soon."

"No; they'll steal my clothes!" he cried, in alarm.

"No, they won't; they