queried, trying hard to steady a voice that liquor had rendered nervous.
"It is."
"I guess you know me, Doctor Montgomery."
"Yes."
"Going to Oakdale?"
"I am."
"So am I. If you don't mind I'll walk with you. I want to talk to you."
"What do you wish?" demanded Dave. The road was rather a lonely one, and he did not fancy the doctor for a companion.
"I've been wanting to see you for some time, Porter," answered Hooker Montgomery, hesitatingly, as if not knowing how to begin. "Fact is, I went up to the school hoping to meet you."
"Why didn't you call for me if you wanted to see me?"
"Well—er—the fact is, Doctor Clay and I are not on good terms, that's why. To tell you the truth, I once sold some of my medicines to some of his hired help, and he didn't like it. He thinks my medicines are not—er—reliable. But they are, sir, they are—more reliable than those of most physicians!" And Hooker Montgomery tried to draw himself up and look dignified. But, to Dave, the effort was a failure. He could read the fellow thoroughly, and knew him to be what is commonly called a fakir, pure and simple.
