It was very early in the morning, it was scarcely dawn, when the young
man started upon a walk of twenty-five miles to reach Alton, where he
was to be assistant to the one physician in the place, Doctor Thomas
Gordon, or as he was familiarly called, "Doc." Gordon. The young man's
name was James Elliot. He had just graduated, and this was to be his
first experience in the practice of his profession of medicine. He was
in his twenties.
He was small, but from the springiness of his gait and
the erectness of his head he gave an impression of height. He was very
good-looking, with clearly-cut features, and dark eyes, in which shone,
like black diamonds, sparks of mischief. They were honest eyes, too. The
young fellow was still sowing his wild oats, but more with his hands
than with his soul.
He was walking because of a great amount of restless
energy; he fairly revelled in stretching his legs over the country road
in the keen morning air. The train service between Gresham, his home
place, and Alton was very bad, necessitating two changes and waits of
hours, and he had fretted at the prospect. When a young man is about to
begin his career, he does not wish to sit hours in dingy little railroad
stations on his way toward it. It was much easier, and pleasanter, to
walk, almost run to it, as he was doing now. His only baggage was his
little medicine-case; his trunk had gone by train the day before. He was
very well dressed, his clothes had the cut of a city tailor. He was
almost dandified.
His father was well-to-do: a successful peach-grower
on a wholesale scale. His great farm was sprayed over every spring with
delicate rosy garlands of peach blossoms, and in the autumn the trees
were heavy with the almond-scented fruit. He had made a fortune, and
aside from that had achieved a certain local distinction. He was then
mayor of Gresham, which had a city government. James was very proud of
his father and fond of him. Indeed, he had reason to be. His father had
done everything in his power for him, given him a good education, and
supplied him liberally with money. James had always had a sense of
plenty of money, which had kept him from undue love of it. He was now
beginning the practice of his profession, in a small way, it is true,
but that he recognized as expedient. "You had better get acclimated,
become accustomed to your profession in a small place, before you launch
out in a city," his father had said, and the son had acquiesced. It was
the natural wing-trying process before large flights were attempted, and
the course commended itself to his reason. James, as well as his father,
had good reasoning power.