ut true and
sincere. He means every word. Writes like a Clay or a Webster. There's
blood back of it--Kentucky bluegrass blood. And she--she did not know she
was a queen of tragedy last night when she made her appeal. Who could
that have been who tried to get in ahead of me? Ugh! He was a devil! When
she saw him coming she looked daggers of scorn and contempt. There's
something back of it all, I'll wager. Could that terrible thing dare to
love her, I wonder? If he does, it's one-sided. But she's beautiful! I'd
go into another burning stable tonight if she looked at me as she did
then, and asked me."

As he folded the letter and slipped it back into the envelope he
suddenly realized that his coffee must be getting cold. He smiled at the
incongruity of the thought, but he was very hungry, so he essayed to
rise. The effort necessary to get onto his elbow brought numerous
darting pains to a dozen places at once, and made his temples throb. But
his firm jaws were not for nothing, and presently his feet were on the
floor and he was standing upright, dizzy, and holding to the head of the
bed. His chest burned as though coals of fire were laid upon it. He
waited a few moments, battling with physical weakness, then steered an
uncertain course for the washstand. How sweet was the touch of cool
water on his hot, parched face! He dashed it over his head and neck and
face by the handsful and felt his brain clear as if by magic. And there
is magic in a basin of cold water, as anyone can testify. Directly he
set about dressing. His trunk and suit case sat in a corner, and when he
had donned underwear, shirt and trousers his strength left him, and he
feebly sought a chair by the table and gulped down the coffee. Then, by
sheer force of will, he began to eat. The food was half cold, and not
good. It would not have been good had it come just from the oven, but it
gave strength, nevertheless. The man felt the elation of returning
vigour as he ate. His meal was not half finished when a hurried,
thumping step was heard in the corridor without, his door was
unceremoniously and roughly opened, and Doctor Kale entered. He was a
man getting along in life; full bearded, grizzled. His beard and hair
curled slightly, and beneath his rather heavy brows keen, kind eyes
danced incessantly. He was not very particular as to his apparel. His
clothing was baggy, and none too clean. He wore boots, with his trousers
legs pulled down over them. His vest was