re him."

"Yes," said the doctor, "I think I can manage everything. You will
explain to the clerk in the office the peculiar character of your
friend's illness, and I shall have no trouble, I am sure."

"All right," said Perkins, and they entered. There were several of the
club in the room saying good-bye. At the entrance of the physician they
filed out.

"Where have you the most pain, Mr. Van Dyke?" began Dr. Mead.

"Here," said Van, without a blush.

The physician pressed his fingers upon the afflicted region, felt Van's
pulse and forehead and gravely examined his tongue; then he turned to
the two men and said:

"It is probably appendicitis. The boy must stay in bed for the present."

"Hate to leave you, Van," Mason said, taking the sick man's hand gently;
"but it's almost train time. Take care of yourself and do as the doctor
says, and you'll be O. K."

"Good-bye, old man," said Perkins. "Have 'em telegraph right along; we
shall want to know just how you are. We shall have to cut the string
quartet, and that's pretty hard with Pellams out of the trip, but don't
feel bad about that. You'll be nifty by the time we are on for the
return concert."

"Good-bye," said the man with appendicitis, assuming the look of one who
may be taking his last farewell of earthly things. "I shall come out all
right, I'm sure I shall."

"Course. Good-bye. Doctor, look out for him."

"Send up some paper from the office, will you?" murmured the Freshman
wearily. "I--I think I want to write to my mother."

Ten minutes later the bell-boy brought the paper and a Bible.

Dr. Mead arranged the bedclothes with a practised hand, then he sent out
for medicine and chatted affably until the stuff arrived. Van submitted
to a plaster on his abdomen and alternated messes for half-hour
intervals. He was contented enough. Early afternoon would be a good time
to find Dolores.

The doctor settled himself by the window and talked about the University
and politics and climatic conditions in Montana and California; the
musician joined in the conversation politely but without great
enthusiasm, wondering when the man was going; there was not any too much
time now for breakfast and a careful toilet. He ventured to speak.

"If you have other patients that call you, Doctor, you mustn't stay with
me. I can get along, even if it is lonely in a hotel, and you'll be in
again to-day, won't you?"

"Appendicitis," said the doctor, with his heaviest air,