“How much do I owe you?” inquired Doctor Simon.

Danny was about to answer that a couple of dollars would be all right when the thought occurred to him that here was an opportunity to secure medical treatment for himself.

“If you’ll give me something to stop a fever we’ll call it even,” he suggested.

“That’s easy!” returned Doctor Simon heartily.  “Come into the office and I’ll take your temperature and write you out a prescription.”

So they sat down by the stove and the doctor took Danny’s pulse and put a thermometer under his tongue, chatting amicably meanwhile, and when he had completed his examination he wrote something on a piece of paper.

“How long have you been practicing veterinary medicine?” he inquired.

“All my life,” answered Danny truthfully.  “But I don’t get near so much to do as I used.  These be hard times for those as have to do with horses.”

He got up painfully.

“Well, now,” said Doctor Simon, “I’d feel better if I paid you for treating my horse.  Just put this five-dollar bill in your pocket.  I guess you need it more than I do.”

Danny shook his head.  “That’s all right!” he said weakly, for he was feeling very ill.  “It’s a stand-off.”

“Oh, go ahead, take it!” urged Doctor Simon, shoving the bill into the pocket of Danny’s overcoat.  “By the way, have you got your card?  I might be able to send a little business your way.”

When his magic skill with horses was matter of common knowledge among the upper circle of Long Island grooms and coachmen Danny had had a few cards struck off by a friendly printer.  A couple of fly-blown specimens still lingered in the drawer of Mulqueen’s desk.  Danny searched until he found one: 

DANIEL LOWRY VETERINARY 212 WEST 53D STREET NEW YORK CITY

“Here, sor,” said he, his head swimming, “that’s my name, but the address is wrong.”

Doctor Simon put it in his pocketbook.

“Thanks,” he remarked.  “Much obliged for fixing up my horse.”  Then in a businesslike manner, he threw back his coat and displayed a glittering badge.  “Now,” he added brusquely, “I must arrest you for practising veterinary medicine without a license.  Just come along with me to the nearest police station.”

* * * * *

When Mr. Tutt returned home that evening after attending one of the weekly sessions at the Colophon Club, where he had reluctantly contributed the sum of fifty-seven dollars to relieve the immediate needs of certain impecunious persons gathered there about a green-baize-covered table in a remote corner of the card room, he perceived by the light of an adjacent street lamp that someone was sitting upon the top of the steps leading to his front door.

“Are you Mr. Tutt?” inquired Katie Lowry, getting up and making a timid curtsy.  “The great lawyer?”

“That is my name, child,” he answered.  “What do you want of me?”