“Ah, good evening, my lad,” exclaimed the aged physician, as, with his spectacles half-way down on his nose, and holding a book in each hand, he came out to greet Tom. “You are from the printer’s, aren’t you? Have you the proofs of my new book on ‘The Influence of Environment in Nervous Diseases’?” “No, sir. I’m not from the printer’s,” said Tom. “I came about the ten dollars, for Mr. Townsend.” “Oh, yes, to be sure. How stupid of me. I wonder where my pocketbook is?” “Didn’t you find it?” “Find it? Did I lose it?” “Yes. Don’t you remember me telephoning about it for you, when you were in the store?” “Oh, yes, to be sure. Now I know who you are. Dear, dear, I am getting to have a bad memory, I’m afraid!” He already had it, Tom thought, but the old gentleman was such a delightful character, that the boy could not help liking him. “Come right into the sitting-room,” went on the doctor. “Let me see, your name is Theopholus, isn’t it?” “No, sir, it’s Tom Baldwin.” “Oh, yes, I recollect now. Well, Tom, just sit down a minute, and I’ll get the money. Please don’t disturb any of the books or papers. I’m writing another book on how to avoid taking colds, and I’m looking up all the authorities about that form of disease.” The table was covered with books and papers, and Tom took a seat far enough away so that there would be no danger of disturbing them. “Eliza, have you seen my pocketbook?” Dr. Spidderkins called, as he left the room. “I put it right on top of your desk, where you couldn’t help but see it,” answered Mrs. Sandow. “Oh, yes, of course; I remember now. I have it in my pocket.” The doctor came back into the sitting-room. He was followed a moment later by a tall, dark complexioned man, whose eyes, as Tom noticed at a glance, seemed to be continually shifting about. “Ah, Barton, are you going to sit here and read?” asked the doctor pleasantly. “I was going to, but you’ve got your confounded papers all over the table, so I don’t see how I can very well,” answered the man, in surly tones. “I’ll make a place for you at once,” said the doctor hastily, sweeping the papers to one side. “You needn’t bother,” was the man’s ungracious remark. “I can go somewhere else. I wish you, wouldn’t make such a muss.” “But this is about my new book.” “I don’t care what it is.” The doctor seemed to shrink away from Mr. Barton Sandow, and Tom felt a natural resentment against a man who would speak so ungraciously to an aged person. “Allow me to present a friend of mine to you,” went on the physician courteously. “This is Tom Baldwin, Mr. Sandow. Tom, or I suppose I should say Thomas, this is my brother-in-law. That is he is a sort of brother-in-law. His wife was my brother’s wife, but my brother has been dead several years, and his wife married again.”