Doctor Morgan folded his stethoscope and thrust it into his inner pocket.

“Your heart’s been pounding like that for seven years, you say?” he asked of the man sitting before him.

“Seven years in May,” was the brief answer.

The patient got up from the office chair and adjusted his waistcoat. The waistcoat was ample and covered a broad chest. The face also was broad, with a square chin, and eyes set well apart. The man was twenty-eight or thirty years old and nearly six feet in height.

“I know all you’ve got to tell me,” he said, going to the mirror to brush his tumbled hair. “They sent me out to find a place on a farm because medicine wouldn’t do anything for me. I’m tolerably comfortable if I don’t overdo—that is, if I stay out of doors while I’m doing. I don’t expect you to make a new man out of me; I only thought I’d have you look me over the first thing, because I might need you suddenly, and it’s better for you to know what sort of patient you’ve got beforehand.” He paused for an inspection of his well-groomed hands.

“You may not need me for years,” Doctor Morgan interrupted hastily. “That kind of a heart outlasts the other organs sometimes. The doctor twisted the heavy-linked watch chain which dangled from his vest pocket as if calling upon it for words. Of course an out-of-doors life is best. What have you been doing of late?” he asked.

“Teaching in the old university since I got my degree, but they’ve sent me out like a broken-down fire horse. I’ll get used to it,” the young man said indifferently. He was accustomed to signs of hopelessness when his case was discussed, and was unmoved by them.

“Have you family ties?” the doctor asked. He liked the grit this man’s manner indicated.

“None that need to be counted,” was the brief reply.

The doctor noticed that his patient wasted no extra words in self-pity. “That’s good! It lessens a man’s worries. And—where are you staying, Mr. Noland?”

“At the hotel, till I get a place on a farm. Before I invest I’m going to get my bearings about farms, by working around till I get on to things. You don’t know of a place where a man could work for his board for a month till the spring seeding and things come on do you?”

He was pushing the cuticle back from his finger-nails as they talked, and Doctor Morgan smiled.

“Those hands don’t look much like farm work,” he said.

The man laughed easily. “Oh, that’s habit. I’ll get over it after a while.”

“You will if you work for these yahoos around here much. Why don’t you invest in land and have your own home right from the start? A man like you can’t live in the kind of houses and do the kind of work You’ll find in this country.”

“I wouldn’t work for myself—I’ve nothing to work for. When you take away a man’s chances to marry and live the normal life, you make a sluggard of him. I’ve got to have a partner, and have his interests to serve as well as my own, or I won’t work, and in the meantime I want to look about a bit before I pick up some one to go into business with. I won’t be long finding some one.”

“No whine in him,” was the doctor’s mental comment, but what he said was: “Well, You’ll find life about here a bit dull. Come in, and make yourself at home in this office while you’re in town, and I’ll see what I can do about finding a place for you.”

After he had watched his patient swing off up the street he considered the case seriously.

“College athletics do just about that sort of thing for a boy,” he said aloud. “Now I believe Silas Chamberlain would take him for his board, and there ain’t any children there. Children’s the devil in a farmhouse: no manners, and they set right on top of you, and if you say anything the folks are hurt. He’s a nice fellow, and I intend to hold on to him. It was like old times to talk for a while to a man that knows chemistry and things. I’ll see more of him. I’m gettin’ old altogether too fast in this blamed hole. I need some one to talk to that’s more like a man ought to be.”