A lump rose suddenly in Varge's throat—the doctor seemed to waver before him through the mist in his eyes. He could only shake his head.
"Well, it doesn't matter," said the doctor, a little wistfully, "only I'd like to have heard you say it; as it is, I reckon I'll have to keep on trusting to those lights of mine. Take the money, Varge, and—and—oh, well—confound it!—take it!"—he thrust the bills suddenly between the buttons of Varge's jacket.
"I don't know what I can say to you," said Varge huskily, "except what I said once before—God bless you. I'll keep the money for I shall need it badly enough—when I can, I'll send it back to you." He held out his hand. "Good-bye."
Doctor Kreelmar eyed the outstretched hand dubiously.
"I shook hands with you once before," he snapped gruffly, "and I haven't forgotten it."
"That was when I was dying," said Varge, smiling through wet eyes.
"Hum!" said the little man, "So it was. Well, I'll risk it."
He caught Varge's hand, wrung it hard in both his own—then turned and walked quickly to the road.
Varge watched him clamber into the buggy and pick up the reins.
"Gidap!" clucked the little doctor to his horse.
