Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1902-11-08

for its prim neatness and orderly array
On the one side was an adjustable couoh;
on the other a bookcase with glass doors,
containing number of instruments which
were, however, not visible because of cur
tains of green silk behind the glass.
Into that room, on three days a week,
Lord the severely respectable footman,
ushered in patients one after the other,
many of the society women suffering from
what is known in these degenerate days as
nerves" Indeed, Eyton was par excel
lence a ladies' doctor-for SO many OF the
gentler sex get burnt up in the mad rush
of London season.
l had made up my mind to consult my
chief, and with that object entered his room
on the following afternoon at quarter be-
fore 4.
''Well, Boyd, anything fresh?" he asked,
putting off his severely professional air and
lolling back In his padded writing chair as
1 entered.
No, nothing responded, throwing my
self in the patients chair opposite him and
tossing my gloves on the table. "a hard
day down at the hospital, that's all. You've
been busy as usual, suppose?'
BUSY" the old man echoed. why,
these COMPOUNDED women never let me alone
for an instant. Always the same story
excitement, late hours, little worries over
erring husbands and all that sort of thing.
I always know what's coming as soon as
they get seated and settled. I really don't
know what society's coming to, Boyd" and
he blinked over at me through his heavy
framed spectacles.
About sixty, of middle height, he was
slightly inclined to rotundity, with hair al
most white, a stubbly gray beard and a
pair of keen eyes rather prominently set In
a bony but not unpleasant countenance
He had a peculiar habit of strokfng his left
ear when puzzled, and was not without
those little eccentricities which run hand in
hand with genius. One of them was his
fondness for amateur theatricals-for he
was leading member of the dramatic club
at Hove and nearly always took part In the
performances. But he was a pronounced
miser. Each day when he arrived at Vic
toria station from Hove he purchased three
ham sandwiches at the refreshment bar
and carried them in his black bag to Har-
ley street. He there concealed them in a
drawer in the writing table and stealthily
ate them instead of taking half an hour for
luncheon Sometimes he sent Ford out to
the nearest green-grocer's in the Maryle-
bone road for a penny apple, which he sru-
reptitiously ate as dessert.
Indeed, he was finishing his last sandwich
when l entered, and his mouth was full.
1t may have been that small fact which
caused me to hesitate. At any rate, sitting
there with those big, round eyes peering
upon me, felt the absurdity of the situa-
ton.
Presently. when he had finished his sand
witch, carefully brushed the crumbs from
his blotting pad and cast the bag into the
waste paper basket, he raised his head,
through his spectacles, said:
you've had no call to poor old Courte-
nay, SUPPOSE?
mo- I replied. "Why?"
Because he's in bad way"
'Worse?"
yes" he replied. I'm rather anxious
about him. He'll have to keep to his bed
fear"
/ did not in the least doubt this. Old Mr..
Henry Courtenay, one of the Devonshire
Courtenays, a very wealthy II somewhat
eccentric old gentleman. lived In one of
those prim. pleasant detached houses In
Richmond road, facing Kew Gardens, and
was one of Sir Bernard's best patients. He
had been under him for number of years,
until they had became personal friends.
One of his eccentricities was to insit on
paying heavy fees to his medical adviser
believing perhaps that by so doing he
would secure greater and more careful at
tention.
But, strangely enough, mention Of the
name suddenly gave me the clue 80 long
wanting 1t aroused within me a sense
| of impending evil regarding the very man
| Of whom we were speaking. The SOUND OF
! the name seemed to strike the sympathetic
| chord within my brain, and l at once be-
| came cognizant that the unacountable pre-
| sage of impending misfortune was connect
| ed with that rather incongruous household
| down at Kew.
Therefore when Sir Bernard impaired tc
me his misgivings 1 was quickly on the
| alert and questioned him regarding the
progress of Mr.. Courtenays disease.
| 1.-The poor fellow is sinking I'm afraid
| Boyd" exclaimed my chief, confidentially
| He doesn't believe himself half so I'll as he
| is. When did you see him last ~
| "Only few days ago. / thought he
| seemed much improved" said
| "And, of course" the old doctor snapped
| his manner toward me in An instant chang
| ed. You're frequent visitor there. for.
] got Feminine attraction, and all that sort
| of thing. Dangerous, Boyd! Dangerous tc
| run after a woman of her sort. I'm an Older
| man than you Why haven't you taken the
| hint gave you long ago?'
| Because 1 could see no reason why
| should not continue my friendship with
| Ethelwynn Mivart."
| The old man smiled superciliously.
MY dear Boyd" he responded, in a sym
pathetic, fatherly manner, which he some
times assumed, Pm an old bachelor, and
see quite sufficient Of women in this room
| too much Of them, in fact. The majority
| are utterly worthless. Recollect that
have never yet taken away a woman'l
character, and refuse to do so now-espe
| cially to her lover I merely warn you
Boyd, to drop her. That's all. II you don't
depend upon It. you'll regret it,
| Then there's some secret or other OF he
| past which she conceals, I suppose?"
said hoarsely. feeling confident that beinl
so intimate with his patient, old Courtenay
he had discovered 1t.
Yes" he replied blinking again at M
through his glasses. There is-a yer.
| ,rgfy -