As he walked out of that office Karl was a little dizzy. His avenue of hope had grown narrower. It was not, then, some affection characteristic of eyes. It was, after all, something from without. It was, in all probability, one of two things,--it was either--but again he did not go beyond the first, telling himself with nervous buoyancy that _that_ would not make any serious difference. They stepped into an elevator and went up. He knew Parkman would ask him questions now, but it seemed he could not get away from the doctor if he tried. He felt just at present as though he had not strength to resist any one. That oculist, he admitted to himself, had taken a good deal of starch out of him. When they reached the office, Dr. Parkman offered him a drink; that irritated him considerably. "Why no," he said, fretfully, "No--I don't want a drink. Why should I take a drink? Did you think I was all shot to pieces about something?" The doctor was looking over his mail, fingering it a great deal, but not seeming to accomplish much of anything with it. At last he wheeled around toward him. "What's the matter with your eyes?" he asked with disconcerting directness. "How should I know?" retorted Karl, heatedly, almost angrily. "What do I know about it? If an oculist can't tell--you say he is a good one--why should you expect me to?" And then he added with a touch of eagerness, as if seizing upon a possibility: "I don't believe that fellow amounts to much. I think I'll go out now and hunt up somebody who knows something." "The man's all right," said Dr. Parkman shortly. His own foot was tapping the floor nervously. "You ought to have some idea," he added, with what he felt to be brutal insistence, "as to whether or not you got anything in your eyes." "Well, I haven't! I don't know anything about it." But he was breathing hard. His whole manner told of fears and possibilities he was not willing to state. He would tell what he thought now in just a minute; the doctor knew that. He began with insisting, elaborately, that he never got things on his hands--that was not his way; and even if he did get something on his hands, he wouldn't get it in his eyes; even if he did rub his eyes sometimes--he didn't admit it--but even if he did, would he be such a fool as to rub them when he had something on his hands? But if, in spite of all those impossibilities, just admitting for the sake of argument, and because Parkman insisted on being ominous, that it was something like that, there were two things it might be. It might be--he named the first with emphasis, and Dr. Parkman, after a minute's thought, heaved a big sigh of unmistakable relief. "Now you see that couldn't make any vital difference," Karl added, with a debonair manner, a thin veneer of aggressiveness. The doctor was leaning forward in his chair. He was beginning to grow fearful of the emphasis put upon this thing which could make no vital difference.