The stoutish Commissioner glanced after him, dimly surprised.

Boyhood friends these two, their ways had long parted while the younger
followed away the descending fortunes of his father, the inventor of a
double-turbine which would never quite work. Their reestablished
intimacy now was of the thorough-going sort: witness Sam's letting him
trot along on factory inspection the other day, something he'd have done
for no other amateur, not on your life. Yet old V.V. was kind of
puzzling at times, as now; wild-talking, then kind of reserved all of a
sudden, like pulling down a shade on you. Talked different at
different times....

Business awaited the Commissioner at his office in the Capitol, as he
now recalled. However, V.V. was opening his dingy old door.

Without, in the corridor, there was seen standing a scraggly-bearded
individual in a ragged shirt, which offered glimpses of a hairy chest in
need of soap. A stranger this chanced to be, but the genus was by no
means unfamiliar in the environs of the Dabney House. The young doctor's
speaking countenance, confronting him, appeared to fall a little.
Doubtless he had learned by now the usual business of such as these.

"Good morning," he said, in rather a firm way. "What can I do for you?"

The caller, having turned a china-blue gaze upon his host, wore a
confused air. He spoke in a furry, plaintive voice, professional in
its way.

"Jes lookin' fer the Doc a minute, sir, that's all. You ain't him, are
yer?"

"Why not?..."

And then it came over Vivian who this man must be: surely no other than
the Dabney House prodigal, spouse of his own fellow-lodger, landlady,
and _blanchisseuse_. Upon that thought he stepped out into the hall,
closing the office door behind him upon Sam O'Neill.

"Yes, I'm the doctor--and you're Mr. Garland, aren't you? Your wife and
daughter are friends of mine...."

Mr. Garland accepted the introduction with signs of abashment, but
stated his business simply.

"Doc, could you he'p me out with a coat like?"

"Oh ... A coat, you say?"

"Rags to my skin, sir. I 'clare you can see my meat...."

The bearded one inspected himself downward with feeble cackles, hollow
parodies of gay derision. And he added, with the same mock dash, that
he didn't mind his situation for himself, being used to taking them as
they come; 'twas his missus seemed sort of shamed _fer_ him ...

The pleasant-faced young man stood stroking his chin.

"Yes--yes--I c