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 the Pendulum. I feel as if the poor fellow were strapped down on a revolving disk that comes around under the knife just so often.”

Mrs. St. Peter looked judicially at the letter, then at her husband’s back. She didn’t believe that surgery would be the subject of discussion when they met. Mrs. Crane had been behaving very strangely of late.

Doctor Crane had married a girl whom no other man ever thought of courting, a girl of whom people always said: “Oh, she’s so good!” chiefly because she was so homely. They had three very plain daughters, and only Crane’s salary to live upon. Doctors and surgeons kept them poor enough.

St. Peter kissed his wife and went forth quite unconscious of what was going on in her mind. During the morning he telephoned Mrs. Crane, and arranged a meeting with her at five o’clock. As the bell in the old house didn’t work now, he waited downstairs on the front porch, to receive his visitor and conduct her up to his study. It was raining drearily, and Mrs. Crane arrived in a rubber coat, and a knitted sport hat belonging to one of her daughters. St. Peter took her wet umbrella and led her up the two flights of stairs.

“I’m not very well appointed to receive ladies, Mrs. Crane. This was the sewing-room, you know. There’s Augusta’s chair, which she insisted was comfortable.”