"A smart chap," commented Daddy. "If he has to do this for a living I'm
sorry for him, and if he isn't compelled to he's probably some sort of
useful crank."

"At any rate Sweetapple Cove appreciates him," I said.

"I have no doubt he's an angel with pin-feathers sprouting all over him,"
retorted Dad. "But it isn't business, which I take the liberty of
defining as the way of making the best of one's opportunities instead of
frittering them away. He has unquestionably done a few dozens of poor
devils a lot of good, including myself. But he could find many more
cripples in any big city, and a few of them might have bank accounts."

Just then we heard some one whistling. I was interested to note that the
tune was from a fairly recent comic opera that can hardly have reached
the general population of Sweetapple Cove.

"There is your crank," I said, rather viciously.

He knocked at the door and came in, breezily, as he generally does.

"I've got to be off," he announced. "I shall probably not return till
to-morrow night, or perhaps the morning after. You are getting along very
well, Mr. Jelliffe. Just let me have another look before I go away."

The inspection seemed to be entirely satisfactory.

"Well, I'll run now," said Dr. Grant. "I'll come and see you the moment I
get back."