It was several days afterward, however, before David was able to go out. The reaction from the excitement of his home-coming left him contented with the quiet of the cool living-room, where he wrote to Avery, and eventually called up Bascomb Senior, with whom he had a brief talk regarding the progress of the N. M. & Q. He acknowledged Bascomb’s note in regard to the asbestos samples, stating that he would call for them, which was thoroughly agreeable to the engineer, who wanted to see him.

That afternoon, about four o’clock, Dr. Leighton called. Miss Ross was out, for which both he and David were thankful, as it gave them an opportunity “to get down to bed-rock,” as David expressed it.

The doctor smiled at David’s assertion that he had completely recovered and wanted to do something beside rest.

“I’m tired of resting,” said David.

“Yes, I know. You’re all right now and you’ll be all right later on if you take care of yourself. Keep out of the sun and loaf; just loaf and invite your—friends. I know it’s the hardest kind of work for you. It isn’t the wound—the outside of your head that needs humoring. You’ve had a shock that has upset things and you can thank your stars that you’re not up there—permanently.”

Dr. Leighton chuckled and ran his handkerchief round his perspiring face.

“I didn’t think it was quite so serious,” replied David.

“It isn’t now, and won’t be, if you give yourself half a chance. Do you know what spinal meningitis is?”

“I have an idea.”

“Well, just satisfy yourself with the idea. Don’t offer yourself as a subject for clinical investigation, that’s all.”

David was silent for a few minutes.

“I want to thank you for your personal attention to my case, Doctor—”

“Don’t mention it. I don’t know just what your plans are, but I understand that you have some interest in connection with the N. M. & Q. that’s worrying you. You talked about it in the hospital—when you weren’t exactly yourself, you know. You had a favorite theme, something about Bascomb, Smoke, and asbestos that you kept up pretty continuously.”

“I don’t doubt it,” said David, smiling. “You don’t know how I felt when I realized that I was losing my grip on things. ‘Smoke’ is a dog; Wallie Bascomb’s bull-terrier. I think I chased that dog a thousand miles the first few days I was in the hospital.”

“Don’t doubt it. Well, I must go.” The Doctor slid a plump hand down his watch-chain and glanced at his watch. “Well, Ross, you know what to do. I can’t do any more for you than I have. You must work out, or rather rest out, your own salvation now, and it ought to be rather an agreeable task. I haven’t had a rest for three years. Now, about this N. M. & Q. business. From the reports recently circulated among the stockholders, this lumber road won’t be in operation for a year or two yet, if that is any satisfaction.”

“It isn’t the road entirely,” said David. “There are some matters in connection with the proposed right-of-way—”

“Yes,” interrupted the Doctor, “I heard that matter discussed at the last meeting. I happen to have a little money invested in that project myself. Bascomb talked me into it. In fact, there are a number of physicians interested.”

“Is that so? Well, that’s interesting. I’d like to meet you when you have more time, and talk it over.”

“See here, young man, you’re talking business, and that’s what I advised you not to do.”

“Yes, but with my physician in attendance—that makes some difference. Won’t you extend your charity and spare me a few minutes more. Can’t you ’phone to the hospital? I have something that will interest you, now that I know you have stock in the N. M. & Q.”

“Well, Ross, as a physician I ought to say no, but as your friend, well, I’ll listen, say ten minutes.”

“Good!” exclaimed David, taking a piece of paper from the desk. “Now I’m going to swear you to secrecy.”

“I’m sworn,” said the Doctor. “Go ahead.”

David made a hasty sketch of the Lost Farm tract and the first survey. “Now here we are,” he said. “First survey crosses the river here; second survey about five miles below. Up here,” he continued, “is Timberland Mountain, and here is the creek crossing the line of the first survey.” He paused and glanced at the Doctor’s face. “In that creekbed is a fortune in asbestos—miles of it. Now the original intention of the directors was to run the road round the base of the mountain and cross the creek here. You can see that the second survey would take the road through five miles below the mountain.”

“Yes, I see,” said the Doctor; “but why do they want to go away off there?”

“Well, Bascomb knows that the mineral is on Lost Farm. He has tried to purchase the land, but it is not for sale. It belongs to my partner, a Mr. Avery.“

“Right of eminent domain?” queried the Doctor.

“Of course, so far as the right-of-way is concerned, but that doesn’t touch the asbestos. What I’m getting at is this. Bascomb apparently controls the directors. He’s an engineer and they leave the fine points to him. Now he can easily swing the road to the second survey and—bang! There goes the market for the asbestos. It won’t pay to cart it five miles to the road.”

“Does the second survey cover accessible territory for road building?” asked the Doctor.

“No,” replied David. “It’s one of the worst pieces of swamp-land I ever saw.”

“I see. So Bascomb is using that to bluff you into selling?”

“That’s about it.”

“And the stockholders pay for his little idiosyncrasies, hey?”

“They will if he has his way.”

The Doctor studied the sketch closely for a moment. “You’ve got this thing correct?” he asked finally.

“Not to a scale—but approximately correct,” replied David.

“Hu-m-m!” The Doctor leaned back and looked at his companion, but there was no gleam of recognition in his expression. Presently he arose. “Will you let me have this sketch for a few days?”

“Certainly,” replied David.

“Of course, I’m not a practical railroad man,” said the Doctor, as he folded the paper and slipped it in his memorandum book, “but I don’t see why the N. M. & Q. shouldn’t have the asbestos tonnage. Do you?”

“No, I don’t;—that is, if the directors are made alive to the fact that the stockholders know what they want and intend to have it.”

“That’s it. I won’t promise anything, but you might drop a line to your partner and tell him to sit tight till he hears from you. Now you’ve had enough business for a month. Take a drive this evening and keep away from downtown till you hear from me. I’m going to produce this paper at the next meeting and get my name in print as a practical railroad man, which isn’t so, but I’m not averse to a little advertising.”

“I didn’t know men of your—your profession did that kind of advertising,” said David.

“My son, if you knew some of the stunts physicians do to keep themselves before the public, you’d—well, you might smile and then again, you might not.”

Dr. Leighton drew on his gloves, settled his coat-collar with a shrug of his corpulent shoulders, and departed.