Page:Pratt portraits - sketched in a New England suburb (IA prattportraitssk00full).pdf/155

 As they opened the gate, Anson's horse turned his head toward his master and whinnied softly. It was singularly comforting. The horse, at least, believed in him, and looked to him for release.

"I suppose you know that the respiration must be closely watched. It's a pity you can't speak more positively about it."

A feeling of irritation came over Anson. He resented being catechised, and resentment was a relief.

"I don't know what you could do about it now," he said, "if I chose to tell you."

"Oh! then you kept yourself informed. That is well. What stimulant did you give him?"

Here Anson seemed to feel the ground under his feet once more, and he said with decision: "Our school does not believe in stimulants."

"And nourishment?" asked the doctor.

"He was too feverish to be given much nourishment."

"Too feverish for nourishment, and his pulse sinking to nothing! Good heavens, man, you don't know what you are talking about!"

Again there was a feeble flutter of self-assertion in Anson's harassed mind, and he answered, with a last attempt at dignity:

"You must remember, Dr. Morse, that you and I belong to different schools of medicine."

Here the doctor's patience gave out, and his wrath broke loose—