“How much I can accomplish I do not know,” said Miller, “but I’ll do what I can.  There are eight or nine million of us, and it will take a great deal of learning of all kinds to leaven that lump.”

“It is a great problem, Miller, the future of your race,” returned the other, “a tremendously interesting problem.  It is a serial story which we are all reading, and which grows in vital interest with each successive installment.  It is not only your problem, but ours.  Your race must come up or drag ours down.”

“We shall come up,” declared Miller; “slowly and painfully, perhaps, but we shall win our way.  If our race had made as much progress everywhere as they have made in Wellington, the problem would be well on the way toward solution.”

“Wellington?” exclaimed Dr. Burns.  “That’s where I’m going.  A Dr. Price, of Wellington, has sent for me to perform an operation on a child’s throat.  Do you know Dr. Price?”

“Quite well,” replied Miller, “he is a friend of mine.”

“So much the better.  I shall want you to assist me.  I read in the Medical Gazette, the other day, an account of a very interesting operation of yours.  I felt proud to number you among my pupils.  It was a remarkable case—­a rare case.  I must certainly have you with me in this one.”

“I shall be delighted, sir,” returned Miller, “if it is agreeable to all concerned.”

Several hours were passed in pleasant conversation while the train sped rapidly southward.  They were already far down in Virginia, and had stopped at a station beyond Richmond, when the conductor entered the car.

“All passengers,” he announced, “will please transfer to the day coaches ahead.  The sleeper has a hot box, and must be switched off here.”

Dr. Burns and Miller obeyed the order, the former leading the way into the coach immediately in front of the sleeping-car.

“Let’s sit here, Miller,” he said, having selected a seat near the rear of the car and deposited his suitcase in a rack.  “It’s on the shady side.”

Miller stood a moment hesitatingly, but finally took the seat indicated, and a few minutes later the journey was again resumed.

When the train conductor made his round after leaving the station, he paused at the seat occupied by the two doctors, glanced interrogatively at Miller, and then spoke to Dr. Burns, who sat in the end of the seat nearest the aisle.

“This man is with you?” he asked, indicating Miller with a slight side movement of his head, and a keen glance in his direction.

“Certainly,” replied Dr. Burns curtly, and with some surprise.  “Don’t you see that he is?”

The conductor passed on.  Miller paid no apparent attention to this little interlude, though no syllable had escaped him.  He resumed the conversation where it had been broken off, but nevertheless followed with his eyes the conductor, who stopped at a seat near the forward end of the car, and engaged in conversation with a man whom Miller had not hitherto noticed.