"Umph!" Dr. Carmon's pencil went on with its notes. When he had gone and Aunt Jane was alone in the office--she took up the cards and looked at them. She might take them up to Mr. Medfield now, before dinner--There would be time. Herman Medfield had summoned Aunt Jane several times during the hurried days, and she had sent back word each time that she would come when she was not so busy. She smiled a little as she looked down at the cards. She could see him, fuming and giving instructions that she was to come at once, and Miss Canfield's face as she took the message. She put the cards in her pocket and went along the hall to Suite A. Herman Medfield propped up in bed, surrounded by books and papers, looked up with a little scowling frown. Aunt Jane glanced at it and crossed the room. She gathered up the books and papers from the bed and carried them to the table and laid them down. "I guess you won't want these any more, will you? It's most dinner-time." She sat down by him. His face relaxed. "I haven't seen you for four days," he remarked dryly. "I've been busy," returned Aunt Jane. "A good many folks suffering." He was silent. She watched the face with a shrewd, kindly smile. "You hadn't thought as anybody _could_ suffer, maybe--anybody except you?" "No--I hadn't thought of anything." He looked ashamed, but he held his point. "_I've_ suffered--horribly!" he said. "I thought likely you would." Aunt Jane was placid. He stared. "You're the kind that's liable to suffer," she said slowly, "--all sort o' tewed up inside.... That kind has to suffer a good deal." He looked down at his hands. Probably no one had ever spoken to Herman Medfield just as Aunt Jane was speaking. She held the cards toward him--the black-edged one on top. "They came in your flower-boxes." He took them without seeing them. Then he glanced at the black one and pushed them away. "The same one that came before--isn't it?" remarked Aunt Jane serenely. "Yes." "I thought it was the same name. The flowers were nice that came with it--roses--red ones." He was silent. "I gave Susie Cannon a bunch of them to take home with her. Her folks drink--both of 'em." He stared at her. Then his face smiled a little. "It's a new cure for the drink habit, isn't it--red roses?" He laughed a little cynically. Aunt Jane regarded him impartially. "Your folks didn't ever any of 'em drink, did they?" "You mean--?" His face was politely puzzled. "Get drunk, I mean-- You don't come of a drinking family, do you?" "No." His eyes were still a little amused. "I reckoned not. Steve Cannon does--and his wife drinks. They'd broke Susie's arm between 'em. So she came to us." He was looking at her thoughtfully. "How old is she?" "Three," said Aunt Jane, "three--going on four." "Good God!" She nodded. "Yes, He's good. But somebody's got to look after Susie." He waited a minute. Then he spoke, almost hesitatingly. "I don't suppose that money would do--any good?"