onia was gazing at him appealingly. At length he put his
watch in his pocket and said quietly:

"Mrs. Baker, I must ask you to give me a room. I will take the case."
Then he added mentally: "And that settles my vacation."

Dr. Morgan's assistant was a young man whom nature had supplied with a
prematurely bald head, a flourishing beard, and a way of appearing ten
years older than he really was. To these gifts, priceless to a young
medical man, might be added boundless ambition and considerable common
sense.

The yellow envelope which contained the few lines meaning life or death
to little Hiram Joash Baker was delivered at Dr. Morgan's Back Bay
office at ten minutes past ten. Dr. Payson--that was the assistant's
name--was out, but Jackson, the colored butler, took the telegram
into his employer's office, laid it on the desk among the papers, and
returned to the hall to finish his nap in the armchair. When Dr. Payson
came in, at 11:30, the sleepy Jackson forgot to mention the dispatch.

The next morning as Jackson was cleaning the professional boots in the
kitchen and chatting with the cook, the thought of the yellow envelope
came back to his brain. He went up the stairs with such precipitation
that the cook screamed, thinking he had a fit.

"Doctah! Doctah!" he exclaimed, opening the door of the assistant's
chamber, "did you git dat telegraft I lef' on your desk las' night?"

"What telegraph?" asked the assistant sleepily. By way of answer Jackson
hurried out and returned with the yellow envelope. The assistant opened
it and read as follows:

Send 1,500 units Diphtheritic Serum to me by morning train. Don't fail.
Utmost importance.

J. S. MORGAN.

Dr. Payson sprang out of bed, and running to the table took up the
Railway Guide, turned to the pages devoted to the O. C. and C. C.
Railroad and ran his finger down the printed tables. The morning train
for Cape Cod left at 7:10. It was 6:45 at that moment. As has been said,
the assistant had considerable common sense. He proved this by wasting
no time in telling the forgetful Jackson what he thought of him. He sent
the latter after a cab and proceeded to dress in double-quick time. Ten
minutes later he was on his way to the station with the little wooden
case containing the precious antitoxin, wrapped and addressed, in his
pocket.

It was seven by the Arlington Street Church clock as the cab rattled
down Boylston Street. A tangle of a trolley car and a marke