it possible that David had begun to feel as she did, that the girl
was entitled to a clean slate before she pledged herself to Dick?
And the slate--poor Dick!--could never be cleaned.

Then, one day, David astonished them both. He was propped up in
his bed, and he had demanded a cigar, and been very gently but
firmly refused. He had been rather sulky about it, and Dick had
been attempting to rally him into better humor when he said suddenly:

"I've had time to think things over, Dick. I haven't been fair to
you. You're thrown away here. Besides--" he hesitated. Then:
"We might as well face it. The day of the general practitioner
has gone."

"I don't believe it," Dick said stoutly. "Maybe we are only
signposts to point the way to the other fellows, but the world will
always need signposts."

"What I've been thinking of," David pursued his own train of thought,
"is this: I want you to go to Johns Hopkins and take up the special
work you've been wanting to do. I'll be up soon and--"

"Call the nurse, Aunt Lucy," said Dick. "He's raving."

"Not at all," David retorted testily. "I've told you. This whole
town only comes here now to be told what specialist to go to, and
you know it."

"I don't know anything of the sort."