“That’s right, scold me,” said he, trying to laugh.  “It’s what I need.  I’m showing the white feather, a hatful of them.  But you’re mistaken about one thing.  It is my responsibility, every detail of it.  Don’t forget that.  If the case goes wrong, it’s my fault, not Dr. Leaver’s.”

Then he walked away, leaving Miss Mathewson utterly dumbfounded.  She understood perfectly that Dr. John Leaver had suffered a severe breakdown from overwork, and that this was his first test since his recovery.  But she knew nothing of the peculiar circumstances of his last appearance in an operating-room, and could therefore have no possible notion of the crisis this morning’s work was to be to him.  She did know enough, however, to be deeply interested in the outcome, and she watched the Green Imp flying down the road toward home with the sense that when it returned it would bear two surgeons for whom she must do the best work of support in her life.

“Ready, Jack?”

“Ready.”

John Leaver took the seat beside Burns, giving the outstretched hand a strong grip.  He carried no hand-bag, there was no sign of his profession about him.  He had sent to Baltimore for his own instruments, but they were waiting for him in the little operating-room at Sunny Farm, having been through every rite practised by modern surgery.

The car set off.

“It’s a magnificent morning,” said Red Pepper Burns.

“Ideal.”

“September’s the best month in the year, to my fancy.”

“A crisp October rivals it, to my notion.”

“Not bad.  There’s a touch of frost in the air this morning.”

“Quite a touch.”

The car sped on.  The men were silent.  His one glance at his friend’s face had showed Burns that Leaver had, apparently, his old quiet command of himself.  But this, though reassuring, he knew could not be trusted as an absolute indication of control within.  For himself, he had never been so profoundly excited in his life.  He found himself wondering how he was going to stand and look on, unemployed, yet ready, at a sign, to take the helm.  He felt as if that moment, if it should come, would find him as unnerved as the man he must help.  Yet, with all his heart and will, he was silently assuring himself that all would go well—­must go well.  He must not even fear failure, think failure, imagine failure.  Strong confidence on his own part, he fully believed, would be definite, if intangible, assistance to his friend....

Rounding a curve in the road, the white outlines of Sunny Farm house stood out clearly against the background of near green fields, and distant purple hills.

“House gets the sun in great shape mornings,” observed Burns.

“The location couldn’t be better,” responded Leaver’s quiet voice.

The car swung into the yard.  The two men got out, crossed the sward, and stood upon the porch.  Miss Mathewson met them at the door, her face bright, her eyes clear, only a little flush on either cheek betraying to Burns that she shared his tension.