The Argosy, Vol. 84 No. 1 — page 12: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

2 THE ARGOSY. as he glanced up at the numbers, Dr. Bowen’s smile vanished again and even more swiftly than before. Dr. Bowen, in fact, stopped short and emitted a noisy little gasp. For there was Dr. Rimborne’s number, and the little brass sign bore the name of Peter Rimborne, M. D.—and every shade in the house was tightly drawn, and be- side the door hung a length of black crape and a trail of white flowers! Full half a minute Dr. Jim Bowen ~ stood perfectly still, staring at the dole- ful sight and permitting his startled brain to grope around wildly for an explanation that would leave Dr. Rimborne alive and well. It was a relative, of course, who had died—although he knew perfectly well that Dr. Rimborne had not a relative in the world now, and that he lived quite alone with his servants. Dr. Jim Bowen shook his head; the boy on the roller skates had been right after all! And it meant—well, for the moment he declined to think just what it meant to himself. Dr. Bowen, his lately pleasant grin most effectually dispelled, trudged up the steps of the big four-story home and tapped lightly on the door, and a few seconds later he was murmuring,to a frightened-looking maid: “T am Dr. Bowen.” | “A friend of Dr.—Dr. Rimborne’s? Yes, sir,” the girl sniffed as she admitted him. - Handkerchief pressed to her lips, she motioned toward the shadowy drawing- room, and Dr. Jim Bowen advanced dazedly toward the casket at the far side; and although the girl’s emotion overcame her and she wept aloud, Dr. Bowen hard- ly heard. His own throat was tightening and his eyes were filling, for it was in- deed Dr. Peter Rimborne who had passed on. That fine old face, so peaceful, so splendidly dignified in death, was the face of his father’s boyhood friend, Pe- ter. Not for a dozen years had Dr. Jim Bowen looked upon the features, but he remembered the last occasion so well! Dr. Rimborne and his father had gone — to the train with him, when he left to es- tablish himself in practise in Hallas, ‘in the most remote corner of New York State. He had laughed then, and joked with young Jim Bowen about the terrors of the new medical man in the wilds— and now he, and the elder Bowen, too, had gone into the great beyond. Dr. Jim, as they had called him up in Hallas, turned away suddenly and moved back to the weeping maid. ‘When did it happen?” he asked with some difficulty. ‘I never knew.” “T can’t talk about it, sir,” the maid choked. ‘ Will you see Mrs. Dunlap, please? She’s the housekeeper, sir, and —there she is up-stairs.” Dr. Bowen ascended numbly and per- mitted the sober-faced, middle-aged wom- an to usher him into what seemed to be her own sitting-room. Mrs. Dunlap, ap- parently, had been answering the same questions over and over again, for she said rather mechanically: ‘Yes, it’s been a great shock to every- body, indeed, sir. It came very sudden- ly. Night before last poor Dr. Rimborne seemed quite himself in every way, but early yesterday morning he called for me and I saw that he was badly off. There was no hope at all from the first.” ‘What was the trouble?” Dr. Bowen asked dully. . “Some disease of the heart, sir, that he had been keeping to himself this last ten years. I got Dr. Skilling to him as fast as I could, and he told Dr. Skilling about it. Dr. Skilling had four other doctors here in half an hour, sir, but they could do nothing. He passed away about seven o’clock, quite conscious to the end, and telling us not to worry about a trifl- ing matter like that.” “Tt sounds like him!” The housekeeper dabbed at her eyes. ‘You were a friend of his, sir?” “JT am Dr. James Bowen,” announced the staggered caller. COPMNICGLOOKS (©)