orgotten."

Dr. Ferris bowed gravely. "Quite so, Mr. Blizzard," he said.

"Miss Barbara," said Blizzard, watching closely the effect upon the
older man of the familiarity, "will not be here till eleven. And as you
and I cannot possibly have anything pleasant to say to each other, and
as you, although the older man, are far better off than I am for means
of locomotion, and as even _thinking_ of you has something the effect
upon my stomach that mustard and warm water would have--"

"If you have any mercy in your heart," said Dr. Ferris, his mouth
distorted with emotion, "don't talk to me that way. What made a hell of
your life has made a hell of mine."

The look of cold hatred in Blizzard's face changed at once to curiosity.
"Really?" he said; "you mean that?"

"It is the truth."

Blizzard considered, and then shook his head. "No," he said, "it
couldn't be the same. It may have stretched you on the hot grid now and
then, but between times of remorse you've had long, long stretches of
success and happiness. I haven't. I have burned in hell fires from that
day to this."

"I told you on that day," said the surgeon, "that if there was ever
anything under heaven that I could do for you, I would do it. You've
never called upon me for anything--money--or service."

"I've not forgotten," said Blizzard, "and some day I may hold you to
your word. Right here and now I will ask something of you--an absolutely
truthful answer to a question. Do you hate me?"

Dr. Ferris turned the question over in his conscience, and presently
said: "I am sorry. Yes."

"Thank you," said Blizzard, who was not in the least disturbed. "I've
often wondered, and even, putting a hypothetical case, thrashed the
matter out with my friends. You _would_ hate me. It's thoroughly human.
With me, for instance--I feel non-committal about a man. I decide to
injure him. I do so. _And then_ I hate him. Now, if you have any message
for Miss Barbara--or perhaps you came to see the bust. I will call
Bubbles. He and Miss Barbara are the only persons allowed to touch the
cloths. I think she'd let me uncover the thing, but, as you and I know
so well, I am not tall enough."

"My business with my daughter," said Dr. Ferris, "concerned you."

Blizzard chuckled. "Her friends," said he, "have been at you to
interfere. They have persuaded you that her model should be _persona non
grata_ in the best studios. They have, in short, begged you to take me
by the scruff of