Red Peppers Patients | Page 3

to all his intimates, and to many more who would
not have ventured to call him by that title, as "Red Pepper Burns," on
account of the combination of red head, quick temper, and wit which
were his most distinguishing characteristics of body and mind, was a
stalwart fellow whose weight was effectually kept down by his activity.
His white linen office jacket was filled by powerful shoulders, and the
perfectly kept hands of the surgeon gave evidence, as such hands do, of
their delicacy of touch, in the very way in which Burns closed the door
behind him.
Gardner Coolidge was of a different type altogether. As tall as Burns,
he looked taller because of his slender figure and the distinctive
outlines of his careful dress. His face was dark and rather thin, showing
sensitive lines about the eyes and mouth, and a tendency to melancholy
in the eyes themselves, even when lighted by a smile, as now. He was
manifestly the man of worldly experience, with fastidious tastes, and
presumably one who did not accept the rest of mankind as comrades

until proved and chosen.
"So it's my services you want?" questioned Burns. "If that's the case,
then it's here you sit."
"Face to the light, of course," objected Coolidge with a grimace. "I
wonder if you doctors know what a moral advantage as well as a
physical one that gives you."
"Of course. The moral advantage is the one we need most. Anybody
can see when a skin is jaundiced; but only by virtue of that moral
standpoint can we detect the soul out of order. And that's the matter
with you, Cooly."
"What!" Coolidge looked startled. "I knew you were a man who
jumped to conclusions in the old days--"
"And acted on them, too," admitted Burns. "I should say I did. And got
myself into many a scrape thereby, of course. Well, I jump to
conclusions now, in just the same way, only perhaps with a bit more
understanding of the ground I jump on. However, tell me your
symptoms in orthodox style, please, then we'll have them out of the
way."
Coolidge related them somewhat reluctantly because, as he went on, he
was conscious that they did not appear to be of as great importance as
this visit to a physician seemed to indicate he thought them. The most
impressive was the fact that he was unable to get a thoroughly good
night's sleep except when physically exhausted, which in his present
manner of life he seldom was. When he had finished and looked
around--he had been gazing out of the window--he found himself, as he
had known he should, under the intent scrutiny of the eyes he was
facing.
"What did the last man give you for this insomnia?" was the abrupt
question.
"How do you know I have been to a succession of men?" demanded

Coolidge with a touch of evident irritation.
"Because you come to me. We don't look up old friends in the
profession until the strangers fail us," was the quick reply.
"More hasty conclusions. Still, I'll have to admit that I let our family
physician look me over, and that he suggested my seeing a nerve
man--Allbright. He has rather a name, I believe?"
"Sure thing. What did he recommend?"
"A long sea voyage. I took it--having nothing else to do--and slept a bit
better while I was away. The minute I got back it was the old story."
"Nothing on your mind, I suppose?" suggested Burns.
"I supposed you'd ask me that stock question. Why shouldn't there be
something on my mind? Is there anybody whose mind is free from a
weight of some sort?" demanded Gardner Coolidge. His thin face
flushed a little.
"Nobody," admitted Burns promptly. "The question is whether the
weight on yours is one that's got to stay there or whether you may be
rid of it. Would you care to tell me anything about it? I'm a pretty old
friend, you know."
Coolidge was silent for a full minute, then he spoke with evident
reluctance: "It won't do a particle of good to tell, but I suppose, if I
consult you, you have a right to know the facts. My wife--has gone
back to her father."
"On a visit?" Burns inquired.
Coolidge stared at him. "That's like you, Red," he said, irritation in his
voice again. "What's the use of being brutal?"
"Has she been gone long enough for people to think it's anything more
than a visit?"

"I suppose not. She's been gone two months. Her home is in
California."
"Then she can be gone three without anybody's thinking trouble. By the
end of that third month you can bring her home," said Burns
comfortably. He leaned back in his swivel-chair, and stared hard