The Argosy, Vol. 84 No. 1 — page 19: what you’re looking at

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

THANKS TO THE B. R. T. 9 one with an account of an operation which fairly thrilled him. He himself had been contemplating just that sort of possibility in such a case; he flattened the magazine and read and read—and the clock, ticking off minute after minute, crept to the hour of five, struck unheeded, and crept on again. At Dr. Bowen’s elbow, the telephone rang sharply. There would be another phone in the house, of course, and the maid would an- swer the call—although apparently there was not, for the bell jingled again. Dr. Bowen picked up the instrument, tilted back, and called: “ Hello!” “ Doctor!’’ a man’s agitated voice said swiftly. “I’m speaking to the’ doctor himself?” ‘““You’re speaking to Dr.—”’ “ All right—all right!” the voice cut in impatiently. ‘“‘ Doctor, are you at liberty just now?” “Very much so,” Dr. Bowen muttered grimly. ‘““ Have you your pencil handy?” the ex- cited tone rushed on. ‘‘ Ready? The name is Catterson—Charles Catterson. You know the home, perhaps?” “No,” said Dr. Bowen, jotting down the name for Polly’s future attention. The voice gave a number on Clinton Avenue. “ Come quick, doctor!” it added. 74 Bat—” ‘Please put this call before anything and everything else and come at once, doctor!” said the unknown. ‘ Don’t ask particulars now, please, because the case is too urgent and the minutes are too precious. One of your patients—no, doc- tor, I don’t know which one—commended you to Mr. Catterson as the one doctor in Brooklyn who was absolutely sure to answer instantly and certain to handle matters, should the thing become acute. You can start at once? Say that you'll start at once, doctor!” Dr. Bowen smiled grimly. It was the old, old story, known to every medical man the world over. Somebody had swallowed a button, somebody had contrived a half-inch cut on the end of a finger—and the whole household fancied that death, in eight or ten assorted forms, was trying to force an entrance! “Well, just a moment,’ he began cuietly. ‘‘ You see—” “Not a second, sir!” the voice panted. “You must come! Do you hear, doctor? You must! And one thing more, doctor!” c¢ Bhe.” “Don’t come~-in your car, doctor! Don’t! I can’t explain now, but there is a good reason for that and—hurry! Hurry!” the voice concluded. And a click indicated that, its owner having said his say and taken the rest for granted, he had rushed from the tele- phone. _— CHAPTER IV. THE QUEER CASE. Wreet did it mean, anyway? Dr. Jim Bowen smiled whimsically and failed to grow excited. The odds, he fancied, were about fifty to one that noth- ing was seriously wrong in the Catterson home, and yet the person at the other end of the wire had certainly felt the need of a doctor, if one judged by the odd, Ereathless crack in his voice. More than that, he wished Dr. Poldhane Whinnys and in a hurry! Still, cautioning a man to make haste — by leaving his car behind was rather an odd idea, was it not? The practitioner from Hallas stared at the telephone and pondered. Evidently it was an eccentric person who wished Polly, the only man in Brook- lyn absolutely certain to handle matters. That being so, the chances were that he was wealthy because a poor citizen would hardly be ordering around one of Polly’s evident opulence. And that, in turn, being so, Polly doubtless would wish him for a patient—would want to get him now and keep him. CORMMICLOOOKS (©)