here, you don't
mean to quit your profession and take to carpentry, do you?"

"I expect to practise medicine," Leaver said, and there was a queer
setting of his lips as he said it.

"Medicine! You? Jack, you couldn't do it."

"Couldn't I? I don't know that I could." He drew a half shuddering
breath. "But I can try, somewhere, if not in Baltimore."

"I'd like to thrash you!" cried Red Pepper Burns, and he looked it.
"Standing there the picture of a healthy man and telling me you're going
to take to doling out pills and writing prescriptions.... See here. We've
put in a little surgery up there in the north wing, it's a peach of a
place. Come and see it."

He led the way rapidly back up to the house, in at the door and up the
stairs. At the end of a long corridor he threw open the door of a small
room, whose whole northern side was of glass. Its equipment was as
complete as could be asked by the most exacting of operating surgeons.

"Good!" Leaver cried, quite forgetting himself for the moment. "I had no
idea you meant to carry things so far as this. Fine!"

"Isn't it? Could you have a better place to try your hand again? Nobody
looking on but Amy Mathewson, Miss Dodge--whom you met downstairs--and
Dr. Buller--for the anesthetic. Buller's the best anesthetizer in the
state and a splendid fellow besides. Also my humble self, ready to be
your right-hand man. I promise you this,--if the least thing goes
wrong--_and you ask it_--I'll take your place without a word. Jack, the
case is one that needs you. I've never done this operation: you have.
You've written a monograph on it. It's up to you, John Leaver. I don't
dare you to do it, _I dare you not to do it_!"

For the first time, in response to his arguments on this subject, Burns
got no answer but silence. But his friend's face was slowly flushing a
deep, angry red. At this sight Burns rejoiced. His theory had been that
if he could wake something in Leaver besides deep depression and sad
negation he had a chance to influence him. He believed thoroughly that if
he could force the distinguished young surgeon through one successful
operation confidence would return like an incoming tide. He had hoped
that the pathetic sight of the little malformed body of Jamie Ferguson
would arouse the passion for salvage which lies in the breast of every
man who practises the great profession; he saw that thus far his plan had
succeeded. Now to accomplish the rest.

"Suppose," said