“Still,” replied Dr. Hillhouse, “it may all come out right.  He may have gone to a hotel.  There are a dozen theories to set against those of his friends.”

After remaining silent for several moments, he said: 

“The boy had been drinking too much?”

“Yes; and I judge from, his manner, when I saw him on his way to the street, that he was conscious of his condition and ashamed of it.  He went quietly along, evidently trying not to excite observation, but his steps were unsteady and his sight not true, for in trying to thread his way along the hall he ran against one and another, and drew the attention he was seeking to avoid.”

“Poor fellow!” said Dr. Hillhouse, with genuine pity.  “He was always a nice boy.  If anything has happened to him, I wouldn’t give a dime for the life of his mother.”

“Nor I. And even as it is, the shock already received may prove greater than her exhausted system can bear.  I think you had better see her, doctor, as early as possible.”

“There were no especially bad symptoms when you left, beyond the state of partial coma?”

“No.  Her respiration had become easy, and she presented the appearance of one in a quiet sleep.”

“Nature is doing all for her that can be done,” returned Dr. Hillhouse.  “I will see her as early as practicable.  It’s unfortunate that we have these two cases on our hands just at this time, and most unfortunate of all that I should have been compelled to go out so early this morning.  That doesn’t look right.”

And the doctor held up his hand, which showed a nervous unsteadiness.

“It will pass off after you have taken breakfast.”

“I hope so.  Confound these parties!  I should not have gone last night, and if I’d given the matter due consideration would have remained at home.”

“Why so?”

“You know what that means as well as I do;” and Dr. Hillhouse held up his tremulous hand again.  “We can’t take wine freely late at night and have our nerves in good order next morning.  A life may depend on a steady hand to-day.”

“It will all pass off at breakfast-time.  Your good cup of coffee will make everything all right.”

“Perhaps yea, perhaps nay,” was answered.  “I forgot myself last night, and accepted too many wine compliments.  It was first this one and then that one, until, strong as my head is, I got more into it than should have gone there.  We are apt to forget ourselves on these occasions.  If I had only taken a glass or two, it would have made little difference.  But my system was stimulated beyond its wont, and, I fear, will not be in the right tone to-day.”

“You will have to bring it up, then, doctor,” said the assistant.  “To touch that work with an unsteady hand might be death.”

“A glass or two of wine will do it; but when I operate, I always prefer to have my head clear.  Stimulated nerves are not to be depended upon, and the brain that has wine in it is never a sure guide.  A surgeon must see at the point of his instrument; and if there be a mote or any obscurity in his mental vision, his hand, instead of working a cure, may bring disaster.”