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Updated: June 11, 2025
How do you do, Doctor Keltridge?" she added archly. "You find me here, invading your province. I do hope you won't be too angry." And, with a nod to Reed, she rustled from the room. It was plain, however, that the doctor was angry, very, very angry.
As he more than half expected, he found Olive Keltridge there ahead of him, and it was upon Olive Keltridge that, after a most unceremonious greeting to his host, Dolph turned the fire of his interrogation. "Who is the expensive-looking gentleman in the bunny hood, Olive, the one that sat back in the corner and kept tabs on Brenton's reading of the lessons?"
"I called up Doctor Keltridge, and he said he had a broken hip to set at once. It may be two hours, before he can get here. He told me to keep up the stimulant." "You have used it?" "Once, while you were talking to Mrs. Brenton. It is nearly time, again." "Did it " Brenton's voice failed him utterly. The nurse hedged. "It is too soon yet to know. The second dose ought to show more."
His gesture crossed the final words of Catia who had resumed her broken phrase, now rounding to a satisfactory conclusion. " So much to meet you, Doctor Keltridge.
Olive changed her phrase for one more downright. "Then, if you must have it, she wasn't always so totally vulgar as she is now." "Time always brings development," Doctor Keltridge reminded her benignly, while he thrashed about in his cup with a spoon, much as he might have wielded a glass rod in a delinquent mixture.
Therefore it had seemed to Doctor Keltridge the one way of escape from the whole pother had been opened by his words, which he now repeated with a fresh emphasis that he hoped would finally impress them upon Scott Brenton's ear. "Yes; and so, with all this complication on his hands, the professor is hunting for a new assistant." This time, Brenton looked at him keenly.
It should be healed by the power of her mind, not poisoned by the nostrums of a man like Doctor Keltridge, good as gold, but slavish in his adherence to the foolish old traditions.
And Doctor Keltridge, who had watched him rather hopelessly, gave great thanks accordingly. "You've proved the wisdom of your change, Brenton," he remarked, one day. "How is that?" "The whole look of you. You aren't the same man you were, five months ago. Mentally and physically, you're sleeker." Brenton laughed. "Is that a sign of wisdom?" The doctor met the question with composure.
Still, granted the solitary dozen: force isn't a thing one measures by the acre, Reed. It is deep, not wide. Therefore your dozen are enough." "But why the dozen? They come to play with me. I don't do anything to them." "No?" Whittenden spoke with his eyes on his cigar. "Ask Ramsdell. Ask Brenton. Ask " he turned his eyes on Opdyke; "Miss Keltridge."
Of course, he had hours and moods when he felt that he must lift up his voice and shout aloud to all men What? That he did not know exactly what he did believe? For, in reality, that was all the whole pother was amounting to. What was the use in starting the alarm, when the whole great crisis might be merely a matter of imagination, of indigestion, even, as Doctor Keltridge had diagnosed it?
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