But out on the street she grew stern with herself. "Now don't go and do any fool thing," she admonished. "Don't jump at conclusions. You aren't Ernestine, and he isn't Karl. He's Joseph Tank--of all abominable names! And he makes paper bags--of all ridiculous things! Tank's Paper Bags!" she guessed _not!_ Suppose in some rash moment she did marry him. People would say: "What business is your husband in?" And she would choke down her rage and reply--"Why--why he makes paper bags!" He was sitting there waiting for her, smiling. He was awfully good about waiting for her, and about smiling. It was nice to sit down in this cool, restful place and be looked after. He had a book which she had spoken about the week before, and he had a little pin, a dear little thing with a dog's head on it which he had seen in a window and thought should belong to her. And he was on track of the finest collie in the United States. After all, he thought it would be better for her to have a collie than a bulldog. She was losing ground! She was being very nice to him, and she had firmly intended telling him once for all that she could never marry a man whose name was Tank, and who contributed to the atrocities of fate by making paper bags. And then she had a beautiful thought. Perhaps he would be willing to go away somewhere and live it down. He might go to Boston and go into the book publishing business. Surely publishing books in Boston would go a long way toward removing the stigma of having made paper bags in Chicago. And meanwhile, sighing contentedly, and fastening on her new pin, as long as she was here she might as well forget about things and enjoy herself. CHAPTER XXI FACTORY-MADE OPTIMISM The usual congested conditions existed in Dr. Parkman's waiting room when Georgia arrived a little after five. An attendant who knew her, and who had great respect for any girl Dr. Parkman would see on non-professional business, took her into the inner of inners, where, comfortably installed, sat Professor Hastings. "Glad to have you join me," he said; "I feel like an imposter, getting in ahead of these people." "Oh, I'm used to side doors," laughed Georgia. They chatted about how it had begun to rain, how easy it was for it to rain in Chicago, and in a few minutes the doctor came in. He nodded to them, almost staggered to a chair, sank into it, and leaning back, said nothing at all. "Why, doctor," gasped Georgia, after a minute, "can't you _take_ something? Why you're simply all in!" He roused up then. "I am--a--little fagged. Fearful day!" "Well, for heaven's sake get up and take off that wet coat! Here,"--rising to help him--"I've always heard that doctors had absolutely no sense. Sitting around in a wet coat!" "I wonder," he said, after another minute of resting, "why any man ever takes it into his head he wants to be a doctor?"