Richling went out on the old search, which the advancing summer made more nearly futile each day than the day before. Stop. What sound was that? "Richling! Richling!" Richling, walking in a commercial street, turned. A member of the firm that had last employed him beckoned him to halt. "What are you doing now, Richling? Still acting deputy assistant city surveyor _pro tem._?" "Yes." "Well, see here! Why haven't you been in the store to see us lately? Did I seem a little preoccupied the last time you called?" "I"--Richling dropped his eyes with an embarrassed smile--"_I was_ afraid I was in the way--or should be." "Well and suppose you were? A man that's looking for work must put himself in the way. But come with me. I think I may be able to give you a lift." "How's that?" asked Richling, as they started off abreast. "There's a house around the corner here that will give you some work,--temporary anyhow, and may be permanent." So Richling was at work again, hidden away from Dr. Sevier between journal and ledger. His employers asked for references. Richling looked dismayed for a moment, then said, "I'll bring somebody to recommend me," went away, and came back with Mary. "All the recommendation I've got," said he, with timid elation. There was a laugh all round. "Well, madam, if you say he's all right, we don't doubt he is!" CHAPTER XIX. ANOTHER PATIENT. "Doctah Seveeah," said Narcisse, suddenly, as he finished sticking with great fervor the postage-stamps on some letters the Doctor had written, and having studied with much care the phraseology of what he had to say, and screwed up his courage to the pitch of utterance, "I saw yo' notiz on the noozpapeh this mornin'." The unresponding Doctor closed his eyes in unutterable weariness of the innocent young gentleman's prepared speeches. "Yesseh. 'Tis a beaucheouz notiz. I fine that w'itten with the gweatez ac_cu_'acy of diction, in fact. I made a twanslation of that faw my hant. Thaz a thing I am fon' of, twanslation. I dunno 'ow 'tis, Doctah," he continued, preparing to go out,--"I dunno 'ow 'tis, but I thing, you goin' to fine that Mistoo Itchlin ad the en'. I dunno 'ow 'tis. Well, I'm goin' ad the"-- The Doctor looked up fiercely. "Bank," said Narcisse, getting near the door. "All right!" grumbled the Doctor, more politely. "Yesseh--befo' I go ad the poss-office."