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“Mauney Bard!”

“Oh, God, yes! Of course you are. Of course you are!” Horne spluttered, walking impulsively to the bookcase and rivetting his attention on the binding of a book.

“So you’re one of Seth Bard’s curses, eh?” he said, at length, in a preoccupied tone, with his back still turned to Mauney. “Been fighting?”

“No, doctor, I ran a nail in my hand,” he replied, with a smile.

Horne shuffled a pace to his left to transfer his keen attention to another bookbinding, which so completely absorbed him that Mauney was sure he had forgotten his patient. After what seemed five minutes, Horne turned about and, going to his desk, plumped himself down into a swivel-chair. His eye-brows nearly touched the line of his hair as his black eyes stole to the corner of his lids in a sly study of his patient.

“Nail eh? Rusty?”

Mauney commenced undoing the bandage.

“Hip! Hip!” admonished Horne. “I didn’t tell you to take that off. Wait till I tell you, young fellow. Lots of time. Rusty?”

“Yes, doctor.”

“Come in here!”