The Princeton union. [volume] (Princeton, Minn.) 1876-1976, 1890-11-27
HIS INHERITANCE

age, We're seated beside q glowing
grate.fire, chatting as old friends will,
who have met after u long separation.
The hour was late, nearly midnight,
but no sign Of WEAKNESS was on either
face. The room was library, with
Well-filled bookcases on all sides, a
large business-like table in the center,
and deeply cushioned chairs scattered
about One book case contained only
medical works in substantial bindings,
and with marks of service plainly
visible.
DR.. Thornton, host and owner of
the handsome house in which the
room was situated, was man past
forty, with iron-gray hair. strongly
marked features, a tall, erect figure.
and an expression at once kindly and
resolute. You read prompt decision
in his dark-blue eyes, and a sympathy
in the pleasant smile that often cross
ed his lips
His companion, heavily bearded and
bronzed by travel, was a far hand
somer man, but with a weaker face.
*'At last he said stretching him
self lazily in his deep arm chair. II
find you alone and disengaged. Give
me permission to stuff towel into
that obtrusive office-bell of yours, so
that no whining woman or squalling
brat can summon you away and make
me unhappy" .'.O e.
Cant be done, Tom. Make the
most of me now, for the claims OF the
whining women and the squalling brats
cannot be denied" s> "
'You know what I want to hear! I
left you, twelve years ago, a poor man
with struggling, almost wholly gra-
tultlous practice, a sworn bachelor,
and almost a hermit outside of your
professional duties. I find you wealthy,
with a charming wife, and popular
member of society, and yet your prac-
tice is, as before, almost entirely
amongst those who could not fee YOU
it they would. From what relative,
unknown to me, your own cousin, did
you inherit your fortune?" ..t.-....
*'Did it ever occur to you, Tom,
that there are romances il real life,
all about us, quite as improbable as
those found upon the shelves of the
circulating library? My experience
will convince you that I speak with
authority. Twelve years ago-we are
getting old Tom!-I was, as you say,
poor man; studying hard, living in
stutfy little house in a poor neigh
borhood, hoping for better times,
more profitable practice and a fuller
purse. l was bachelor because I
could afford only poverty to wife; a
hermit because my studies were en-
crossing. In my small house I kept
one old woman servant, who cooked
for me and kept things tidy. Having
no carriage | needed no boy, for Mar
tina could write, and I had a much
larger office practice than that outside.
'1t was late, one bitter night in
January, when I was reused by the
office bell, and the shout of excited
voices under my window. Fastening
down 1 found several men carrying
upon shutter the unconscious patient
l was to aid if possible. y
An old man, sir, knocked down
by runaway horses, and run over
said one OF the party, as they gently
deposited their burden upon a sofa.
BADLY hurried, Pm thinking, doctor,
but not dead!
''Badly hurt, indeed. I found him.
and my examination convinced me
that any further motion would result
fatally. Keep him I must or risk his
life by removal to hospital. With
the assistance Of two of the men, I
undressed him and put him into nv
own bed, noticing then that he wore
no coat.
Somebody took it off, they told
me- and apparently somebody kept it,
as 1t never appeared again. In the
trousers pockets were only some
tritiing articles, bunch of keys, and
a handkerchief, but nothing to give
any clew to the identity of my patient
and unlimited guest.
Il will not enter into the details Of
the Injuries that excited my interest as
physician and surgeon as much as
they called for my sympathy as a man.
There were complications in the case
that called upon all my skill and
knowledge. and the patient endurance
OF great suffering made me respect nv
unfortunate guest from the first.
lit was nearly a fortnight before he
recovered from the brain injury sufi-
GENTLY to speak distinctly. When the
sufferer could speak he told me his
name was Fanshawe. but said nothing
moro OF himself, and I supposed him
unwilling to confess to poverty and
the inability to pay me for my services.
II do not take much credit to nv
self for my hospitality or devotion, be-
cause was so deeply interested in the
case professionally considered that
l would have lived on bread and water