That was Harry, he was never in a hurry, never
seemed to move fast, but people never ceased to wonder at his quickness.
"He's all right," the Doctor muttered, his mind slipping back into the
channel that had started him off to thinking of his fellow physician.
"Got in on the ten-forty. But you look fagged enough. Why the devil don't
you rest, Harry?"
Standing in the doorway rubbing his face, neck, and chest, with a coarse
towel the young man laughed, "Rest, what would I do with a vacation? I'll
be all right, when I get outside of one of Mam Liz's dinners. It was that
baby of Jensen's that kept me. Poor little chap. I thought, two or three
times he was going to make a die of it sure, but I guess he'll pull
through now."
Dr. Oldham knew the Jensens well, eighteen miles over the worst roads in
the country. He growled hoarsely: "It'll be more years than there are
miles between here and Jensen's before you get a cent out of that case.
You're a fool for making the trip; why don't you let 'em get that old
bushwhacker at Salem, he's only three miles away?"
Harry pulled on his coat and dropped into his chair with a grin. "What'll
you give me to collect some of your old accounts, Doctor? The Jensens say
that the reason they have me is because you have always been their
physician."
Then the Doctor in characteristic language expressed his opinion of the
whole Jensen tribe, while Harry calmly glanced through some letters on
his desk.
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