Red Peppers Patients | Page 5

left him there while he
went to seek his wife, possibly be contained within the old brick walls
of the exterior? He had not dreamed of finding such refinement of
beauty and charm in connection with the office of the village doctor. In
half a dozen glances to right and left Gardner Coolidge, experienced in
appraising the belongings of the rich and travelled of superior taste and
breeding, admitted to himself that the genius of the place must be such
a woman as he would not have imagined Redfield Pepper Burns able to
marry.
He had not long to wait for the confirmation of his insight. Burns
shortly returned, a two-year-old boy on his shoulder, his wife following,
drawn along by the child's hand. Coolidge looked, and liked that which
he saw. And he understood, with one glance into the dark eyes which
met his, one look at the firm sweetness of the lovely mouth, that the
heart of the husband must safely trust in this woman.
Burns went away at once, leaving Coolidge in the company of Ellen,
and the guest, eager though he was for the professional advice he had
come to seek, could not regret the necessity which gave him this hour

with a woman who seemed to him very unusual. Charm she possessed
in full measure, beauty in no less, but neither of these terms nor both
together could wholly describe Ellen Burns. There was something
about her which seemed to glow, so that he soon felt that her presence
in the quietly rich and restful living room completed its furnishing, and
that once having seen her there the place could never be quite at its best
without her.
Burns came back, and the three went out to dinner. The small boy, a
handsome, auburn-haired, brown-eyed composite of his parents, had
been sent away, the embraces of both father and mother consoling him
for his banishment to the arms of a coloured mammy. Coolidge
thoroughly enjoyed the simple but appetizing dinner, of the sort he had
known he should have as soon as he had met the mistress of the house.
And after it he was borne away by Burns to the office.
"I have to go out again at once," the physician announced. "I'm going to
take you with me. I suppose you have a distaste for the sight of illness,
but that doesn't matter seriously. I want you to see this patient of mine."
"Thank you, but I don't believe that's necessary," responded Coolidge
with a frown. "If Mrs. Burns is too busy to keep me company I'll sit
here and read while you're out."
"No, you won't. If you consult a man you're bound to take his
prescriptions. I'm telling you frankly, for you'd see through me if I
pretended to take you out for a walk and then pulled you into a house.
Be a sport, Cooly."
"Very well," replied the other man, suppressing his irritation. He was
almost, but not quite, wishing he had not yielded to the unexplainable
impulse which had brought him here to see a man who, as he should
have known from past experience in college days, was as sure to be
eccentric in his methods of practising his profession as he had been in
the conduct of his life as a student.
The two went out into the winter night together, Coolidge remarking
that the call must be a brief one, for his train would leave in a little

more than an hour.
"It'll be brief," Burns promised. "It's practically a friendly call only, for
there's nothing more I can do for the patient--except to see him on his
way."
Coolidge looked more than ever reluctant. "I hope he's not just leaving
the world?"
"What if he were--would that frighten you? Don't be worried; he'll not
go to-night."
Something in Burns's tone closed his companion's lips. Coolidge
resented it, and at the same time he felt constrained to let the other have
his way. And after all there proved to be nothing in the sight he
presently found himself witnessing to shock the most delicate
sensibilities.
It was a little house to which Burns conducted his friend and latest
patient; it was a low-ceiled, homely room, warm with lamplight and
comfortable with the accumulations of a lifetime carefully preserved. In
the worn, old, red-cushioned armchair by a glowing stove sat an aged
figure of a certain dignity and attractiveness in spite of the lines and
hues plainly showing serious illness. The man was a man of education
and experience, as was evident from his first words in response to
Burns's greeting.
"It was kind of you to come again to-night, Doctor. I suspect you know
how it shortens the nights to have this visit from you in the