When Bart had his way, he said to
himself, all this would cease.
"I'll be goin' along," he said, looking from one
to the other and putting on his cap. "See you
later, Miss Jane. Morgan's back ag'in to work,
thanks to you, doctor. That was a pretty bad sprain
he had--he's all right now, though; went on practice
yesterday. I'm glad of it--equinox is comin' on
and we can't spare a man, or half a one, these days.
May be blowin' a livin' gale 'fore the week's out.
Good-by, Miss Jane; good-by, doctor." And he shut
the door behind him.
With the closing of the door the sound of wheels
was heard--a crisp, crunching sound--and then the
stamping of horses' feet. Max Feilding's drag,
drawn by the two grays and attended by the diminutive
Bones, had driven up and now stood beside the
stone steps of the front door of the hospital. The
coats of the horses shone like satin and every hub
and plate glistened in the sunshine. On the seat, the
reins in one pretty gloved hand, a gold-mounted whip
in the other, sat Lucy. She was dressed in her smartest
driving toilette--a short yellow-gray jacket fastened
with big pearl buttons and a hat bound about
with the breast of a tropical bird.
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