As Graves's disease neared its crisis, with hurried summoning of consulting physicians and rumors of a resort to oxygen, Shelby found it impossible to avoid an occasional glance into an immediate future in which Graves figured merely as a memory; but whatever his speculations, he was decently chary of voicing them. Some of his party associates were more outspoken, and the opinion was advanced over the Tuscarora House bar that, the loss to literature aside, the young man's taking-off could not but simplify the political situation. The Hon. Seneca Bowers, being of the old school, quaintly declined both speculation and discussion. The day of the crisis Shelby saw Dr. Crandall step from his phaeton to his little sham Greek temple of an office at the foot of his lawn, and followed him. The bluff physician greeted him with a scowl. "Well, sir?" he jerked out, fumbling and smelling among his bottles. "I wanted news of Graves." "I doubt not." The words of themselves were innocuous, but the doctor's hammering emphasis was formidable. "I resent your tone," protested Shelby. "And I, sir, resent your inquiry." "You must have received many like it. However, you may keep your bulletins. Those of the consulting physicians are probably more reliable." With this shaft he turned, but Dr. Crandall was beforehand and closed the door. "Not yet, sir, not yet," he said grimly. "I have a bulletin for you, deem its worth what you will. And I have more. I must administer some nasty medicine. My patient will recover, sir, and no thanks to you." "I don't know what you mean." "Yes, you do." "You accuse me of lying--" "Bah, sir, stop your ruffling. Now for your physic. At the instance of my lifelong friend, Seneca Bowers, I consented against my better judgment to preside last month at your ratification meeting, and so lent you, as I may say, my public indorsement. I shall not publicly stultify myself by repudiating that action, but my vote, thank Heaven, I never pledged. I warn you, sir, that, as sure as I see the sun rise on election day, I shall cast my ballot for your opponent, or my name's not Crandall." "Very well," sneered Shelby, coolly. "If your political allegiance follows your fee, there's no more to be said." "I am stoically indifferent to your slanderous imputation," fumed the doctor, his manner a very Judas to his words; "but I assure you there is more to be said, and that I purpose to say it. I have yet to tell you that you are a blackguard, sir, a violent blackguard, whose proper level is the ward cesspools of the metropolis where crime and politics stalk hand in hand. Medical science will save the man you would have done to death." Shelby passed the vituperation, puzzling how much the irate doctor knew. "Is your patient's delirium contagious?" he asked. "Ha!" cried the doctor. "You do take my meaning." "It's clear enough that you are hinting at foul play on the flimsiest of evidence."