"Oh, no. Sam's Sam is twenty-three, and one of my patients says that
Mrs. Richie will never see forty-five again. Which leads me to
conclude that she's about thirty."
"Of course she doesn't encourage him?" Dr. Lavendar said anxiously.
"She lets him come to see her, and she took him out once in that
wicker-work vehicle she has--looks like a clothes-basket on wheels.
And she provides the clothes to put into it. I'm told they're
beautiful; but that no truly pious female would be willing to decorate
poor flesh and blood with such finery. I'm told--"
"William! Is this the way I've brought you up? To pander to my
besetting sin? Hold your tongue!" Dr. Lavendar rose chuckling, and
stood in front of the fireplace, gathering the tails of his flowered
cashmere dressing-gown under his arms. "But Willy I hope Sam isn't
really smitten? You never can tell what that boy will do."
"Yes, he's a hair-trigger," the doctor agreed, "a hair-trigger! And
his father understands him about as well as--as Danny there
understands Hebrew! I think it's a case of Samuel and his father over
again. Dr. Lavendar, do you suppose anybody will ever know what those
two quarrelled about?"
"Probably not."
"I suppose," William King ruminated, "that you'd call Sam a genius?"
"No, I wouldn't; he has no patience. You can't have genius without
patience. Sam hasn't a particle."
"Well," the doctor explained, "he hasn't the slightest sense of
responsibility; and I notice that when people have no sense of
responsibility, you call them either criminals or geniuses."
"I don't," said Dr. Lavendar dryly, "I call 'em poor critters, either
way. But Willy, about this little boy; the great point is who needs
him? I expect he'll be here on Saturday."
"What! This week? But you haven't found anybody to take him."
"Oh, he'll stay with me for a while, Mary'll look after him. And I'll
play marbles with him. Got any white alleys? Gimme six, and I'll give
you an agate."
"But Dr. Lavendar, that will be a nuisance to you," William King
protested. "Let me take him. Or, at least--I'll ask Martha; she's
house-cleaning now, and she says she's very tired; so I'm not sure--"
William ended weakly.
"No, no; I want him myself," said the old minister.
"Well," Dr. King said with evident relief, "shall I speak to Mrs.
Richie about him? I'm going up there to-morrow; she's got a sick cook,
and she asked me to call. What's his name?"