composedly. "A dozen stray hoboes all around the country get free board and lodging every time there's one sent out. I'll bet you a cookie—I'll bet you two cookies they haven't got Varge."
Warden Rand eyed the doctor for a moment impatiently.
"You veer around like a weather-cock," he said gruffly. "There is no doubt in my mind but that it is Varge."
"Oh, well," said the doctor airily, "of course, if you've made up your mind, why—"
"I have," said the warden crisply.
"Yes," said the little doctor thoughtfully; "seems as if you had—and you don't like the prospect. Makes me think of a man I knew once just after I'd graduated and was on the hospital staff. He was scared stiff he was going to have cancer. All his people had had it on both sides of the house. He used to come around to the hospital regular as clockwork every week for an examination to see if it had developed, and meantimes he must have gone through a ton of drugs as a preventative. He died while I was house surgeon there."
"Well?" inquired the warden tersely.
"He was run over by a railroad train," said the little man complacently.
For an instant the warden scowled, then he laughed; but, as he sat down at the table again and leaned across it toward Doctor Kreelmar, a puzzled frown crept back to his forehead.
"Look here, Kreelmar," he insisted brusquely, "what makes you so sure this isn't Varge all of a sudden?"
"Nothin'; nothin' in the world," said Doctor Kreel-
