working for myself and nobody else at all.  That turns out all right for most people, because they don’t see it:  they do their duty as citizens and good business men and fathers and husbands, and that ends it.  But I saw it.  I felt I had to do a work that would support me in the world—­but it must be a work that helped humanity too.  That is why, friends, I am what I am.  That a certain prominence is inevitable to my position is incidental rather than gratifying.

“So, I think, the lesson to be drawn is that each of us should make his life help humanity, should conduct his business in such a way as to help humanity.  Then he’ll be happy.”

He stood for a moment, then turned away.  The tall, ungainly man with the outstanding ears and the buffoon’s face stepped forward and whispered eagerly in his ear.  He listened gravely, but shook his head.  The tall man whispered yet more vehemently, at great length.  Finally the orator stepped back to his place.

“We are here for a complete rest after exhausting labours,” he stated.  “We have looked forward for months to undisturbed repose amongst these giant pines.  No thought of care was to intrude.  But my colleague’s great and tender heart has smitten him, and, I am ashamed to say against my first inclination, he urges me to a course which I’d have liked to avoid; but which, when he shows me the way, I realize is the only decent thing.  We find ourselves in the midst of a community of some hundreds of people.  It may be some of these people are suffering, far from medical or surgical help.  If there are any such, and the case is really pressing, you understand, we will be willing, just for common humanity, to do our best to relieve them.  And friends,” the speaker stepped forward until his body touched the rope, and he was leaning confidentially forth, “it would be poor humanity that would cause you pain or give you inferior treatments.  I am happy to say we came to this great virgin wilderness direct with our baggage from White Oaks where we had been giving a two weeks’ course of treatments—­mainly charitable.  We have our instruments and our medicines with us in their packin’ cases.  If need arises—­which I trust it will not—­we will not hesitate to go to any trouble for you.  It is against our principles to give anything but our best.  You will suffer no pain.  But it must be understood,” he warned impressively.  “This is just for you, our neighbours!  We don’t want this news spread to the lumber camps and over the countryside.  We are here for a rest.  But we cannot be true to our high calling and neglect the relieving of pain.”

The man bowed slightly, and rejoined his companion to whom he conversed low-voiced with absolute unconsciousness of the audience he had just been addressing so intimately.  The latter hesitated, then slowly dispersed.  Bob stood, his brows knit, trying to recall.  There was something hauntingly familiar about the whole performance.  Especially a strange nasal emphasis on the word “pain” struck sharply a chord in his recollection.  He looked up in sudden enlightenment.