“Humph!  Well, the business is a big success, and I want you to be a big success.  But that doesn’t mean that I want to combine the two.  Isn’t there anything else you’ve ever thought of turning to?”

“I’ve got something of a leaning toward your profession, Dad.”

“My prof—­oh, you mean medicine.”

“Yes.”

“Nothing in it.  Doctors are a lot of prejudiced pedants and hypocrites.  Not one in a thousand is more than an inch wide.  What started you on that?”

“I hardly know.  It was just a notion.  I think the scientific and sociological side is what appeals to me.  But my interest is only theoretical.”

“That’s very well for a hobby.  Not as a profession.  Here we are, half an hour late, as usual.”

The sudden and violent bite of the brakes, a characteristic operation of that mummy among railroads, the Mid-State and Great Muddy River, commonly known as the “Mid-and-Mud,” flung forward in an involuntary plunge the incautious who had arisen to look after their things.  Hal Surtaine found himself supporting the weight of a fortuitous citizen who had just made his way up the aisle.

“Thank you,” said the stranger in a dry voice.  “You’re the prodigal son of whom we’ve heard such glowing forecast, I presume.”

“Well met, Mr. Pierce,” called Dr. Surtaine’s jovial voice.  “Yes, that’s my son, Harrington, you’re hanging to.  Hal, this is Mr. Elias M. Pierce, one of the men who run Worthington.”

Releasing his burden Hal acknowledged the introduction.  Elias M. Pierce, receding a yard or so into perspective, revealed himself as a spare, middle-aged man who looked as if he had been hewn out of a block, square, and glued into a permanent black suit.  Under his palely sardonic eye Hal felt that he was being appraised, and in none too amiable a spirit.

“A favorite pleasantry of your father’s, Mr. Surtaine,” said Pierce.  “What became of Douglas?  Oh, here he is.”

A clean-shaven, rather floridly dressed man came forward, was introduced to Hal, and inquired courteously whether he was going to settle down in Worthington.

“Probably depends on how well he likes it,” cut in the dry Mr. Pierce.  “You might help him decide.  I’m sure William would be glad to have you lunch with him one day this week at the Huron Club, Mr. Surtaine.”

Somewhat surprised and a little annoyed at this curiously vicarious suggestion of hospitality, the newcomer hesitated, although Douglas promptly supported the offer.  Before he had decided what to reply, his father eagerly broke in.

“Yes, yes.  You must go, Hal,” he said, apparently oblivious of the fact that he had not been included in the invitation.

“I’ll try to be there, myself,” continued Pierce, in a flat tone of condescension.  “Douglas represents me, however, not only legally but in other matters that I’m too busy to attend to.”

“Mr. Pierce is president of the Huron Club,” explained Dr. Surtaine.  “It’s our leading social organization.  You’ll meet our best business men there.”  And Hal had no alternative but to accept.