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Updated: June 3, 2025
I'll be hanged, though, if she gets that nose of hers inside Reed Opdyke's room." "I wonder," Olive rested her elbows on the table, and spoke down at her interlaced fingers; "wonder why it is we both of us dislike her so." "I've been her doctor," Doctor Keltridge observed, as if that one fact were sufficient explanation. "But she must have lucid intervals." "Precious few," the doctor growled.
"Boy, what is it that you need to know?" Under the strong, heedful fingers, the pulse gave one great leap, stopped, then fell to pounding madly. Meanwhile, there came a tightening of Opdyke's lips. Then he said, with a voice devoid of any intonation, "Doctor, I think it has come to where I need to know the outcome of all this." "Reed boy, I thought so."
Whittenden, bending forward, laid his hand across the rug. "This," he said quietly; and, strange to say, the words brought no sting to Reed Opdyke's mind. Nevertheless, he objected to the fact. "It seems so much like gallery play, Whittenden," he urged. "It's a bit nasty to be making capital out of a thing like that."
"I adored him, all my last two years at college." "Really? Yes, he is Professor Opdyke's son; and people who have seen him lately tell me he is more adorable than ever." "When have you seen him?" For something in Olive's accent made Brenton realize that there was no necessity for any preliminary question concerning the fact that she knew Opdyke well. "Not since the year of his graduation.
I don't mean I'm in earnest now; I hate to see a good man chucking a good profession, and, unless he steadies down, he is bound to chuck it I don't mean any nonsense about your owing it to him. I mean that you can hold him steady longer than anybody else." "Not you?" Opdyke's accent was incredulous. "My grip on him is gone. In the past, I may have helped him.
Opdyke's lean fingers shut savagely upon the rug that covered him. It would have been a relief if he could have torn it into tatters.
As yet, a boyish delicacy had kept Opdyke from seeking to invade what he knew could not fail to be the barrenness of Scott Brenton's quarters. Slight as was their intercourse, viewed in Opdyke's eyes, to Scott it filled the whole horizon, the one near and vital fact which broke in upon its emptiness and cut away the barren wastes about him.
However, self-forgetfulness comes best by focussing all one's energy upon the victim next in line; and Reed Opdyke, just at the present crisis, needed nothing else one half so much as self-forgetfulness. Nevertheless, the pity of it all, the seeming heartlessness, surged in on Whittenden. It would have been far easier for him to have tried to lighten Opdyke's burden than to increase its heaviness.
It is only rather sad to see so broad an intellect buried under the masses of old-time tradition. He gives a strychnine tonic when we others would merely pour ourselves into the gap, and fight disease with mind." Opdyke's brown eyes became inscrutable. "But do you think that mind can do the business, Mrs. Brenton?" he inquired. "Yes, if we apply it in all earnestness.
Only his sense of humour and his comfortable smattering of original sin could have saved Reed Opdyke from being insupportable. Beauty like his, albeit manly, is bound to be a certain handicap. It was to Reed Opdyke's influence that Scott owed the encouraging plaudits of his chemistry professor.
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