Part 2

“I’ve come to apologize.”

“Very well,” returned the other coolly; “I appreciate it. Many a fool wouldn’t go even so far.” Mr. Clyde smiled. “I own to the soft impeachment. From what Dr. Magruder said I judge you saved that fellow from the hospital.”

“I judge I did—no thanks to you! You’ve a grip like a vise.”

“Yes; I keep in good training,” said the other pleasantly. “A man of my age has to, if he is to hold up his work.” He looked concernedly at the stranger who had involuntarily lapsed against the tree again. “See here,” he added, “I don’t believe you’re well.”

“No; I don’t believe I am,” answered the tall man in uncompromising tones; “but I do believe that it is peculiarly my own affair whether I am or not.”

“Nonsense! Man, your nerves are on the jump. You used yourself up on that chap in the street car. Come across to my club and take something to brace you up.”

People usually found it hard to resist Mr. Clyde’s quiet persuasiveness. The stranger, after a moment of consideration, smiled.

“Begin with a fight and end with a drink?” he asked. “That’s a reversal of the usual process. If your cuisine runs to a cup of hot milk as late as this, I’d be glad to have it.”

As they entered the club, Mr. Clyde turned to his guest.

“What name shall I register?”

The stranger hesitated. “Strong,” he said finally.

“Dr. Strong?”

“Well—yes—Dr. Strong if you will.”

“Of what place?”

“Any place—Calcutta, Paris, Mexico City, Philadelphia, Rio. I’ve tried ‘em all. I’m a man without a country, as I am without a profession.” He spoke with the unguarded bitterness of shaken nerves.

“Without a profession! But you said ‘Doctor.’”

“A title isn’t a profession,” returned the guest shortly.

Turning that over in his mind, Mr. Clyde led the way to a quiet table in the corner of the diningroom, where he gave his order. Observing that his new acquaintance was distrait, he swung into the easy conversational flow of a cultured man of the world, at the same time setting his keen judgment of men to work upon the other. There was much there to interest a close observer. The face indicated not much over thirty years; but there were harsh lines in the broad and thoughtful forehead, and the hair that waved away from it was irregularly blotched with gray. The eyes, very clear and liquid, were marred by an expression of restlessness and stress. The mouth was clear-cut, with an expression of rather sardonic humor. Altogether it was a face to remark and remember; keen, intellectual, humorous, and worn. Mr. Thomas Clyde decided that he liked the man.

“You’ve been a traveler, Doctor?” he asked.

“Yes. I’ve seen life in many countries—and death.”

“And traced the relations between them, I suppose?”

“Oh, I’ve flashed my little pin-point lantern at the Great Darkness in the fond hope of discovering something,” returned the other cynically.

“In a way, I’m interested in those matters,” continued Mr. Clyde. “They’ve organized a Public Health League here, and made me president of it. More from finance than fitness,” he added, humorously.

“Finance has its part, too,” said the other. “Give me millions enough and I’ll rid any city of its worst scourge, tuberculosis.”

“Then I wish to Heaven you had the millions to spend here in Worthington! We’re in a bad way. Two years ago we elected a reform administration. The Mayor put in a new Health Officer and we looked for results. We’ve had them—the wrong kind. The death rate from tuberculosis has gone up twenty-five per cent, and the number of cases nearly fifty per cent since he took office.”

“You don’t say so!” said the stranger, showing his first evidence of animation. “That’s good.” Mr. Clyde stared. “You think so? Then you’ll undoubtedly be pleased to learn that other diseases are increasing almost at the same rate: measles, scarlet fever, and so on.”

“Fine!” said Dr. Strong.

“And finally, our general mortality rate has gone up a full point. We propose to take some action regarding it.”