"Mr. Breckenridge got a telephone message from Doctor Jordan, Mrs.

Breckenridge; the doctor's been called into town to a patient, so

he can't see Mr. Breckenridge to-night."

"Oh! Well, he'll probably be here in the morning," Rachael said

carelessly.

"Excuse me, Mrs. Breckenridge, but Mr. Breckenridge seemed to be a

good deal worried about himself, and he had me call Doctor

Gregory," the man pursued respectfully.

"Doctor GREGORY!" echoed his mistress, with a laugh like a wail.

"Alfred, what were you THINKING of! Why didn't you call me?"

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"He wouldn't have me call you," Alfred said unhappily. "He spoke

to the doctor himself. We got the housekeeper first, and she said

Doctor Gregory was dressing. 'Tell him it's a matter of life and

death,' says Mr. Breckenridge. Then we got him. 'I'm dining out,'

he says, 'but I'll be there this evening.'"

"Oh, dear, dear, dear!" Mrs. Breckenridge said half to herself in

serio-comic desperation. "Gregory--called in for a--for a--for

this! If I could get hold of him! He didn't say where he was

dining?"

"No, Mrs. Breckenridge," the man answered, with a great air of

efficiency.

"Well, Alfred, I wish sometimes you knew a little more--or a

little less!" Rachael said dispassionately. "Light a fire in the

library, will you? I'll have my dinner there. Tell Ellie to send

me up something broiled--nothing messy--and some strong coffee."




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