t the sound of a laugh from lips he had not heard laugh
like that for a year--a chuckling, delighted laugh, only slightly
asthmatic and wholly unrestrained. He began to laugh himself.

"If folks round here could see Red Burns now they'd never believe the
stories about his gettin' to be such a darned successful man at his
business," he reflected. "Of all the goin's on! Look at him now! An'
that nurse! An' Miss Ellen a-playin' for 'em! Oh, my eye!"

Songs followed--college songs, popular airs, opera bits--all delivered
in' a resounding barytone and accompanied by thumping chords improvised
by the performer. Out through the open windows they floated, and one
astonished villages driving by to take the early train caught the
exultant strains:

"Oh, see dat watermillion a-smilin' fro' de fence,
How I wish dat watermillion it was mine.
Oh, de white folks must be foolish,
Dey need a heap of sense,
Or dye'd nebber leave it dar upon de vine!
Oh, de ham-bone am sweet,
An' de bacon am good,
An' de 'possum fat am berry, berry fine;
But gib me, yes, gib me,
Oh, how I wish you would,
Dat watermillion growin' on de vine!"

Before they knew it the early morning light was creeping in at the
small-paned windows. Burns consulted his watch.

"If you'll give us a cup of coffee, Aunt Ellen, we'll be off in fifteen
minutes. Miss Mathewson"--his glance mirthfully surveyed her--"Aunt Ellen
will take you upstairs and give you a chance to put that magnificent
brown hair into a condition where it will not shock the natives at the
station. As for mine--"

When Aunt Ellen and Miss Mathewson, each in her own way feeling as if
she had passed through an extraordinary experience likely never to
occur again, had hurried away, Burns applied himself to a process of
reconstruction. When every rebellious red hair had been reduced to its
usual order and his thick locks lay with the little wave in them as his
mother had begun to brush them years ago; when collar and cravat rose
sedately above the gray tweed coat, and a fresh, fine handkerchief had
replaced the dingy one which had been through every manner of exercise
in the "circus," Burns drew up a chair and faced his patients with the
keen, professional gaze which told him whether or not his night's work
had been good therapeutics.

"When I've gone you're to have breakfast, and I think you'll both
eat it," he said, smiling at them, his eyes bright with affecti