"And all day long," she laughed, "I've been wondering why any girl ever takes it into her head she wants to be a newspaper reporter." "Speaking of the pleasant features of my business," she went on, "I may as well spring this first as last. Here am I, a more or less sensible young woman, come to ask you, a man whose time is worth--well, let's say a thousand dollars a second--what you intend doing about those hospital interns getting drunk last night!" "My dear Miss Georgia,"--brushing out his hand in a characteristic way which seemed to be sweeping things aside--"go back to your paper and say that for all I care every intern in Chicago may get drunk every night in the week." "_Bully_ story!" "And furthermore, every paper in Chicago may go to the devil, and every hospital may go trailing along for company. Oh Lord--I'm tired." He looked it. It seemed to Georgia she had never understood what tiredness meant before. "Such a hard day?" Professor Hastings asked. "Oh--just one of the days when everything goes wrong. Rotten business--anyway. Eternally patching things up. I'd like to be a--well, a bridge builder for awhile, and see how it felt to get good stuff to start with." "And now, to round out your day pleasantly," laughed Professor Hastings, "I've come to tell you about a boy out there at the university who is in very bad need of patching up." "What about him?" and it was interesting to see that some of the tiredness seemed to fall from him as he straightened up to listen. Georgia rose to go, but he told her to stay, he might feel more in the mood for drunken interns by and by. He arranged with Professor Hastings about the student; and it was when the older man was about to leave that he asked, a little hesitatingly, about Dr. Hubers. "I have been away all summer," he told the doctor, "and have not seen him yet." Georgia was watching Dr. Parkman. His face just then told many things. "You will find him--quite natural," he answered, in a constrained voice. "One hardly sees how that can be possible," said the professor sadly. "Oh, his pleasantness and naturalness will not deceive you much. Your eyes can take in a few things, and then his voice--gives him away a little. But he won't have anything to say about--the change." He shook his head. "I'm afraid that's so much the worse." "Perhaps, but--" "Karl never was one to get much satisfaction out of telling his troubles," Georgia finished for him. "Hastings," said the doctor, jerkily, and he seemed almost like one speaking against his will--"what do you make out of it? Don't you think it--pretty wasteful?" "Yes--wasteful!" he went on, in response to the inquiring look. "I mean just that. There are a lot of people," he spoke passionately now, "who seem to think there is some sort of great design in the world. What in heaven's name would they say about this? Do you see anything high and fine and harmonious about it?"