Part 5

“And the handball, of course, from my ‘cushioned’ palms.”

“Obviously. A man at the heart of a great business doesn’t take up violent indoor exercise without some special reason. Such a reason I saw on the middle finger of your left hand.”

Holding up the telltale member, Mr. Clyde disclosed a small dark area at the side of the first joint.

“Leaky fountain-pen,” he remarked.

“As you are right-handed naturally, but write with your left hand, it’s clear that you’ve had an attack of writer’s paralysis—”

“Five years ago,” put in Mr. Clyde.

“And that your doctor made good use of the salutary scare it gave you, to get you to take up regular exercise.”

“And, incidentally, to cut out my moderate, occasional cocktail. Now, as to the tropics and the typhoid?”

“The latter is a guess; the former a certainty. Under your somewhat sparse long hair in front there is an outcropping of very fine hairs. Some special cause exists for that new growth. The most likely cause, at your age, is typhoid. As you’ve kept in good training, it isn’t likely that you’d have had any other serious ailment recently. On that I took a chance. The small scars at the back of your ears could be nothing but the marks of that little pest of the tropics, the bête rouge. I’ve had him dug out of my skin and I know something of him.”

“Right on every count,” declared Mr. Clyde. “You’ve given me cumulative proof of your value to me. I’ll tell you. Forget formalities. Let me ‘phone for a cab; we’ll go to your hotel, get your things, and you come back with me for the night. In the morning you can look the ground over, and decide, with the human documents before you, whether you’ll undertake the campaign.”

The younger man smiled a very pleasant and winning smile. “You go fast,” said he. “And as in all fast motion, you create a current in your direction. Certainly, if I’m to consider your remarkable plan I’d best see the whole family. But there’s one probable and perhaps insurmountable obstacle. Who is your physician?”

“Haven’t such a thing in the house, at present,” said Mr. Clyde lightly. Then, in a graver tone, “Our old family physician died six months ago. He knew us all inside and out as a man knows a familiar book.”

“A difficult loss to replace. Knowledge of your patient is half the battle in medicine. You’ve had no one since?”

“Yes. Six weeks ago, my third boy, Charley, showed signs of fever and we called a distant cousin of mine who has a large practice. He felt quite sure from the first that it was diphtheria; but he so managed matters that we had no trouble with the officials. In fact, he didn’t report it at all, though I believe it was a very light case of the disease.”

Dr. Strong’s eyes narrowed. “At the outset, I’ll give you two bits of advice, gratis, Mr. Clyde. First, don’t ever call your doctor-cousin again. He’s an anarchist.”

“Just what do you mean by that?”

“It’s plain enough, isn’t it? Anarchist, I said: a man who doesn’t believe in law when it contravenes his convenience.”

Mr. Clyde rubbed his chin again. “Hum,” he remarked. “Well! the second gift of advice?”

“That you either respect the law yourself or resign the presidency of the Public Health League.” A distinct spot of red appeared on each of the elder man’s smooth cheeks. “Are you trying to provoke me to a quarrel?” he asked brusquely.

Then his expression mollified. “Or are you testing me?”

“Neither. I’m giving you my best and most honest advice. If you expect me to do as your substitute physician did, to guard your household in violation of the law which tries to protect the whole public equally, you’ve got the wrong man, and your boasted judgment has gone askew,” was the steady reply.

Mr. Clyde turned and left the room. When he returned his hand was outstretched.

“I’ve taken three swallows of cold air, and sent for a cab,” he said. “Shake hands. I think you and I will be friends. Only—train me a little gently at the outset. You’ll come with me?”

“Yes,” said Dr. Strong, and the two men shook hands.

During the drive Mr. Clyde expounded the virtues and characteristics of his native city to his new acquaintance, who was an excellent listener. Long afterward he found Dr. Strong acting on remembered and shrewdly analyzed information given in that first long talk. When they reached the big, rambling, many-windowed house which afforded the growing Clyde family opportunity to grow, the head of the household took his guest to an apartment in one of the wings.

“These two rooms are yours,” he said. “I hope you’ll be like Coleridge who came to visit with one satchel and stayed five years.”

“That remains to be seen to-morrow,” said Dr. Strong. “By the way, as I usually read myself to sleep, you might leave me some of your local health reports. Thus I can be looking the ground over.”

“All I’ve got you’ll find on the shelf over the desk. Good-night!”