OCR Interpretation


The day book. (Chicago, Ill.) 1911-1917, January 23, 1915, LAST EDITION, Image 19

Image and text provided by University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign Library, Urbana, IL

Persistent link: http://chroniclingamerica.loc.gov/lccn/sn83045487/1915-01-23/ed-1/seq-19/

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and he made a detour to avoid the
shopping crowds. It was only after
ward that it occured to him that he
took his main direction from the
child by telepathy, though the boy
guided him along the last street and
up to the cottage door.
"Is this your father's house?"
asked the doctor.
"Yes, g'anfather," answered the
child. But it was not The young
woman who hurried frantically along
the street at that moment spied the
boy, and snatching him from the
automobile, held him to her breast
and covered his face with kisses be
fore she turned to thank the gentle
man who had, as she supposed,
brought him home.
"Mr. Carter and I have a room on
the top floor," she said, looking at the
doctor dubiously. The resemblance
to some photograph Chat she had
seen seemed tb strike her.
"I am Dr. Carter, madam," said the
old man gravely. "And you are, I
presume, my daughter-in-law."
It was a beautiful face that looked
into his, the eyes swam with tears
and the voice was tremulous. "Oh,
sir, I do hope you don't think I sent
sent Harold " she began.
"To see me? No, I haven't dared
to hope that, answered the doctor. "I
have simply come to see a patient."
Silently the girl or-ned the house
door and the doctor ascended the
stairs until he came to the room in
which his son was lying, racked with
fever and delirious, upon a bed.
"He must be moved at once," said
the doctor. "I am going to take him
away to the hospital in my automo
bile." It was all he could nerve himself
to do to utter the words, for a son,
even though lost for years, is stfll a
son at least, to most of us.
Wrapped in rugs the patient was
transferred to the automobile, which
made its way at a slow pace into
the suburban district where the doc
tor lived.
f painful one. For years her husband
had been working for the company.
He had started at tha bottom and
was just getting a fair salary when
he was attacked by a mysterious dis
ease. After a month's absence he
had lost his position; that was two
months ago, and the disease, which
no doctor could diagnose, had made
inroads upon his system until his
life seemed ended.
"But this isn't the way to the hos
pital!" she exclaimed, as the machine
turned into a pretty lane and stopped
before a comfortable-looking house.
"It is my house my private hos
pital," answered the doctor.
And half an hour later Harold was
comfortable In bed and feebly con
scious. He looked up and recognized the
face of his father. Now, according
to all rules of literature, father and
son ought to have fallen into each
other's arms. But, oddly enough, the
moment his son recognized him the
doctor felt the old pride tie his tongue
and restrain the hands that were so
anxious to enfold the young man's.
"You told me never to let you see
me again," said Harold weakly, "and
I tried to keep my promise."
"You are here as a patient, Mr.
Carter," answered the doctor. "You
owe me no gratitude. It is my duty
to heal with all the means in my
power."
The young man averted his face.
He, too, had pride.
Nevertheless, in the days that fol
lowed the doctor found it difficult to
conceal the love that came into his
heart. Mildred was just the little
daughter-in-law that he had always
pictured to himself. And little Har
old, blissfully uconscious of anything
but loving kindness, was creeping
Into his heart daily more and more
until it seemed impossible that he
could ever let him go.
And, despite his years of practice,
the doctor was unable to diagnose
his son's diease until the famous phy-
The story that Mildred told was a
1 sician for whom he had sent to New,

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