"My dear fellow," Mr. Sam cried in despair, "some people are born
in sanatoriums, some acquire them, and others have them thrust upon
them--I've had this place thrust upon me. I don't know why they want a
doctor, but they do. They balked at Rodgers from the village. They want
somebody here at night. Mr. Jennings has the gout and there's the deuce
to pay. Some of them talk of leaving."

"Let 'em leave," said Mr. Pierce. "If they'd go home and drink three
gallons of any kind of pure water a day--"

"Sh! That's heresy here! My dear fellow, we've got to keep them."

Mr. Pierce glanced at the telegram and handed it back.

"Lot's of starving M. D.'s would jump at the chance," he said, "but if
it's as urgent as all this we can't wait to hunt. I'll tell you, Van
Alstyne, there's a chap down in the village he was the character man
with the Sweet Peas Company--and he's stranded there. I saw him this
morning. He's washing dishes in the depot restaurant for his meals.
We used to call him Doc, and I've a hazy idea that he's a graduate M.
D.--name's Barnes."

"Great!" cried Mr. Van Alstyne. "Let's have Barnes. You get him, will
you, Pierce?"

Mr. Pierce promised and they started out together. At the door Mr. Sam
turned.

"Oh, by the way, Minnie," he called, "better gild one of your chairs and