“That’s as far as he got--or, rather, as far as I’d let him get--in his story just now. For he grew so excited I was afraid he’d have a relapse. I didn’t even dare ask him what he meant that day by mumbling to us that Osmun had frozen to death. It’s queer he should have known, though. Unless--” “Unless what?” urged Doris, as Lawton paused frowning. He made no reply, but continued to stare frowningly at the floor. “Unless what, doctor?” coaxed Doris. Dr. Lawton looked up, impatiently, shook his head and made answer: “I don’t know, my dear. I don’t actually know. And until I do know I am not going to make a fool of myself and let myself in for further ridicule from your amiable aunt by telling my theory. I formed that theory when I examined every inch of Rackrent farmhouse yesterday--the time I found Clive’s satchel. But it’s such a wild notion--and besides the thing was smashed and empty and there was no proof that it ever had contained what I guessed it had--” “What thing, doctor?” wheedled Doris, in her most seductive manner. “What thing was smashed and empty? And what did you ‘guess’ it had contained? Tell us, won’t you, _please_?” “Not till Clive is strong enough to tell all his story,” firmly refused Lawton. “Then if he corroborates what I--” “In other words, Doris, my child,” explained Miss Gregg, with gentle unction, “when Clive tells--if he ever does--our wise friend here will say: ‘Just what I conjectured from the very first.’ It is quite simple. Many a medical reputation has risen to towering heights on less foundation. My dear, you are still at the heavenly age when all things are possible and most of them are highly desirable. Ezra Lawton and I have slumped to the period when few things are desirable and none of those few are possible. So don’t grudge him his petty chance to score an intellectual hit. Even if he should be forced to score it without the intellect.” The old lady was undergoing one of her recurrent spells of chronic dyspepsia this day--by reason of dalliance with lobster Newburg at dinner the night before. At such crises her whole nature abhorred doctors of all degrees for their failure to prevent such attacks when she had refused to live up to their prescribed dietary. Especially in these hours of keen discomfort did she rejoice to berate and affront her valued old friend, Dr. Lawton, he being the representative of his profession nearest to hand. And always her verbal assaults, as to-day, had the instant effect of making him forget his reverent affection for her, turning him at once into her snarling foe. Doris, well versed in the recurrent strife symptoms between the old cronies, came as usual to the rescue. “Doctor,” she sighed admiringly, “I think it’s just wonderful of you to have pieced all this together and to have made Clive tell it without overexciting him. Auntie thinks it’s just as wonderful as I do. Only--”