The great Boston specialist listened to Captain Hiram’s story in an absent-minded way.  Holidays were few and far between with him, and when he accepted the long-standing invitation of Mr. Ogden Williams to run down for the week end he determined to forget the science of medicine and all that pertained to it for the four days of his outing.  But an exacting patient had detained him long enough to prevent his taking the train that morning, and now, on the moment of his belated arrival, he was asked to pay a professional call.  He liked the Captain, who had taken him out fishing several times on his previous excursions to East Harniss, and he remembered Dusenberry as a happy little sea urchin, but he simply couldn’t interrupt his pleasure trip to visit a sick baby.  Besides, the child was Dr. Parker’s patient, and professional ethics forbade interference.

“Captain Hiram,” he said, “I am sorry to disappoint you, but it will be impossible for me to do what you ask.  Mr. Williams expected me this morning, and I am late already.  Dr. Parker will, no doubt, return soon.  The baby cannot be dangerously ill or he would not have left him.”

The Captain slowly turned away.

“Thank you, Doctor,” he said huskily.  “I knew I hadn’t no right to ask.”

He walked across the platform, abstractedly striking his right hand into his left.  When he reached the ticket window he put one hand against the frame as if to steady himself, and stood there listlessly.

The enterprising Mr. Blount had been hanging about the Doctor like a cat about the cream pitcher; now he rushed up, grasped the suit case, and officiously led the way toward the depot wagon.  Dr. Morgan followed more slowly.  As he passed the Captain he glanced up into the latter’s face, lighted, as it was, by the lamp inside the window.

The Doctor stopped and looked again.  Then he took another step forward, hesitated, turned on his heel, and said: 

“Wait a moment, Blount.  Captain Hiram, do you live far from here?”

The Captain started.  “No, sir, only a little ways.”

“All right.  I’ll go down and look at this boy of yours.  Mind you, I’ll not take the case, simply give my opinion on it, that’s all.  Blount, take my grip to Mr. Williams’s.  I’m going to walk down with the Captain.”

“Haul on ee bowline, ee bowline, haul!” muttered the first mate, as they came into the room.  The lamp that Sophronia was holding shook, and the Captain hurriedly brushed his eyes with the back of his hand.

Dr. Morgan started perceptibly as he bent forward to look at the little fevered face of Dusenberry.  Graver and graver he became as he felt the pulse and peered into the swollen throat.  At length he rose and led the way back into the sitting room.

“Captain Baker,” he said simply, “I must ask you and your wife to be brave.  The child has diphtheria and—­”

“Diphthery!” gasped Sophronia, as white as her best tablecloth.