Pain?
Silent grief all grief excels;
Life and it together part--
Like a restless worm it dwells
Deep within the human heart."

More of Morris came to mind. I was sitting alone in the sun parlor at
the hospital that morning, gathering strength in the abundant sunshine
that poured through the glass windows on all sides, reaching from roof
to floor. Wrapped in a single blanket, in my cushioned wheel chair, I
was as comfortable as a man with a half dozen or so newly knit bones
could feel if he sat perfectly still and did not exhaust his energies by
worrying over the slow ups and the rapid downs of life, as one who had
dropped five stories into the depths of solitude might, if not careful
to turn to the saving grace of his philosophy and political economy.
Learning is the only thing a man can count on in the bottomless pit, and
then it won't help him unless he has a little humor for a light. Alas!
my light had gone out.

Well, I was sitting there sunning myself and thinking how deep a hole I
had fallen into, when Hygeia appeared, as ever a vision of loveliness, a
picture of a merry heart gathering the sweets of life and scattering the
seeds of contentment by passing busily from one task to another, full of
the joy of sound health and thankful for the privilege of service. How
did she find time to pursue a course in medicine? Her ambition amazed
me.

"A gentleman wishes to see you, sir," she said, and she handed his card
to me. It read:

A. OBREEON,
30 West 24th Street,
New York.
Private Detective Service.

I felt that light was about to break on a dark subject, and I was not
mistaken. A. Obreeon was as much Dutch in appearance as French in name;
he had a rosy, round face and cheeks that were like a picture of two red
apples. He seemed husky enough to be a corner groceryman, who benefits
incidentally through the fresh air advantages bestowed on his vegetables
to keep them marketable. His beard was trimmed to look like a farmer's,
with a clean-shaven upper lip--a form of barbering that prevents
bronchitis, but not soup. No one would suspect him of anything except
tight boots, for his mouth and forehead were wrinkled as if he were
suffering from acute cornitis; you might call it "an injured air," for a
man who has just run a sliver in his toe shows the same symptoms.

M