speaking countenance, confronting him, appeared to fall a little.
Doubtless he had learned by now the usual business of such as these.
"Good morning," he said, in rather a firm way. "What can I do for you?"
The caller, having turned a china-blue gaze upon his host, wore a
confused air. He spoke in a furry, plaintive voice, professional in
its way.
"Jes lookin' fer the Doc a minute, sir, that's all. You ain't him, are
yer?"
"Why not?..."
And then it came over Vivian who this man must be: surely no other than
the Dabney House prodigal, spouse of his own fellow-lodger, landlady,
and _blanchisseuse_. Upon that thought he stepped out into the hall,
closing the office door behind him upon Sam O'Neill.
"Yes, I'm the doctor--and you're Mr. Garland, aren't you? Your wife and
daughter are friends of mine...."
Mr. Garland accepted the introduction with signs of abashment, but
stated his business simply.
"Doc, could you he'p me out with a coat like?"
"Oh ... A coat, you say?"
"Rags to my skin, sir. I 'clare you can see my meat...."
The bearded one inspected himself downward with feeble cackles, hollow
parodies of gay derision. And he added, with the same mock dash, that
he didn't mind his situation for himself, being used to taking them as
they come; 'twas his missus seemed sort of shamed _fer_ him ...
The pleasant-faced young man stood stroking his chin.
"Yes--yes--I can fit you out, I dare say," said he. "I--ah--have a coat
in here that I think'll do you. Very nicely.... S'pose you wait here a
moment, and we'll see--what we shall see ..."
He disappeared through a door down the hall, and returned presently,
carrying a black coat of the sort commonly known as a cutaway.
"There's the vest that goes with it, too," said he. "You might as well
have that--though of course Mrs. Garland may have to let it out a
little ..."
The man received the gifts in a somewhat awkward silence. Having eyed
the proffered coat,--which in this dim light appeared to be quite a good
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