will not talk,
but it is a false conclusion. He will talk on the patient's case.

"How slow you git on, old man."

"Not at all. I am getting well," is the cheerful reply. Corkey is in
trouble. It is, therefore, time for Lockwin to give him sympathy.
"Corkey is a good fellow," thinks Lockwin, gazing contentedly on his
caller.

"I'm afraid it ain't no use," says Corkey, half to himself. "I ain't
had no luck since I let the mascot go to the league nine," he says,
more audibly.

"I am quite happy," Lockwin says. "It will be a sufficient reward to
look like other folks. Only a few weeks of this. But it is a trial."

"It's more of a trial, old man, than I like to see you undertake."

"Yet I am happy. It will be a success. Wonderful, isn't it?"

"Pretty wonderful!" Yet Corkey does not look it.

The man in the bandages thinks upon what he has suffered with his face.
He blesses the day he was permitted by Providence to stop that runaway.
All is coming about in good order. It needed the patience of love--of
love, the impatient. He is so sanguine to-day that he must push Corkey
a little regarding that scheme.

"Yes, it is wonderful!" says Corkey with affected animation, recovering
his presence of mind.

"Have you been over at our friend's lately?" The question comes with
the deepest excitement. The countenance of Corkey falls instantly.

"Yes, just come from there."

"Are things all smiling over there?"

"Yes. They're too smiling."

"Did you see Dr. Tarpion?"

"Oh, I never see him! Things are too smiling! You'll never catch me
there again."

Lockwin starts.

"She can't play none of her high games onto me. Bet your sweet life!
If she don't want to listen to reason, it's none of my funeral. I say
to her--and I ought to say it afore--I say to her how would she like to
see her old man."

The patient turns away from Corkey. The oldest wounds sting like a
hive of hornets.

"Well, you ought to see the office she give me! She rip and stave and
tear! She talk of political slander, and libel, and disgrace, and all
that. She rise up big right afore me, and come nigh swearing she would
kill such a David Lockwin on sight. There wasn't no such a David
Lockwin at all. Her husband was a nobleman. She wished I was fit to
black his boots--do you mind?--and you bet your sweet life I was
gitting pretty hot myself!"

The thought of it sets Corkey coughing. A thousand wounds are piercing
David Lo