“’Who hath sorrow, who hath woe, who hath redness of eyes?’ Solomon, wasn’t it, who said it was ’they who tarry long at the wine’?  I think he should have added ‘those who wait at home.’  Don’t you think she is a remarkably beautiful girl, Grantley?” he asked abruptly.

“I do, indeed,” the minister answered, giving his friend a searching glance.  “But how about the doctor, why will he not speak to you?” He was glad of a chance to change the subject.

“I suppose the old man’s pride is hurt every time he sees me.  He evidently thinks he is all the medical aid they need around here.  But I do wish he would come with me to see this young Cowan; it’s the most puzzling case I’ve ever met.  There are times, Grantley, when I think I should be following the plough.”

The minister looked at him thoughtfully.

“A man can only do his best, Horace,” he said kindly.

CHAPTER IX THE LIVE WIRE

“Who is this young gentleman or lady?” Dr. Clay asked of Pearlie Watson one day when he met her wheeling a baby carriage with an abnormally fat baby in it.

“This is the Czar of all the Rooshia,” Pearl answered gravely, “and I’m his body-guard.”

The doctor’s face showed no surprise as he stepped back to get a better look at the czar, who began to squirm at the delay.

“See the green plush on his kerridge,” Pearl said proudly, “and every stitch he has on is hand-made, and was did for him, too, and he’s fed every three hours, rain or shine, hit or miss.”

“Think of that!” the doctor exclaimed with emphasis, “and yet some people tell us that the Czar has a hard time of it.”

Pearl drew a step nearer, moving the carriage up and down rapidly to appease the wrath of the czar, who was expressing his disapproval in a very lumpy cry.

“I’m just ‘tendin’, you know, about him bein’ the czar,” she said confidentially.  “You see, I mind him every day, and that’s the way I play.  Maudie Ducker said one day I never had no time to play cos we wuz so pore, and that started me.  It’s a lovely game.”

The doctor nodded.  He knew something of “‘tendin’ games” too.

“I have to taste everything he eats, for fear of Paris green,” Pearl went on, speaking now in the loud official tone of the body-guard.  “I have to stand between him and the howlin’ mob thirstin’ for his gore.”

“He seems to howl more than the mob,” the doctor said smiling.

“He’s afraid we’re plottin’,” Pearl whispered.  “Can’t trust no one.  He ain’t howlin’.  That’s his natcheral voice when he’s talkin’ Rooshan.  He don’t know one English word, only ‘Goo!’ But he’ll say that every time.  See now.  How is a precious luvvy-duvvy?  See the pitty man, pull um baby toofin!”

At which the czar, secure in his toothlessness, rippled his fat face into dimples, and triumphantly brought forth a whole succession of “goos.”