“He is going away,” Galt speculated. “He looks excited. I wonder if Margaret could have told him of her discovery?” Galt stood still, held to the ground by the sheer horror of the thought. Of all possible happenings, he had most dreaded his best friend's discovery of that particular thing. The young doctor had turned toward him and was approaching. He now held his head down and had clasped his hands tensely behind him. Suddenly, when quite near, he raised his eyes and recognized Galt. “Hello, Kenneth!” he said. “I didn't know you were at home. Otherwise, I should have run in and said good-bye.” “You are going somewhere, then?” Galt said. “To Augusta for a few days,” Dearing replied. “I got a letter offering me a chance to do an important operation. I shall be glad to get away, even for so short a time as that. I almost wish, old man, that I could stay away forever. I used to love this town, but I hate it now. I hate anything that is heartless and totally blinded by money and power to all sense of justice and common decency.” “Why, what's gone wrong?” Galt inquired. “Wrong? The place is rotten to the core!” Dearing burst out. “Kenneth, a thing is going to be countenanced by the citizens of this town that would stain the character of the Dark Ages. Haven't you heard the news that has set every tongue to wagging like a thousand bell-clappers?” “No, I haven't heard anything out of the ordinary. You see, I am keeping so close here at home that--” “Well, old man, the lowest, poorest excuse for a man that old Stafford ever produced is coming back,” Dearing broke it, furiously. “Fred Walton, I mean. I didn't think he'd have the effrontery to show his face here again, but he has decided to do it.” “Oh!” Galt exclaimed. But that was all he said, for Dearing went on, angrily: