Dr. Simons appeared interested. He looked up from a sheaf of papers which he held in his hand and asked, "What are you worried about?"
Dot's defiance fled. She met Dr. Simon's eyes timorously. "You kind 'a' gave me the idea," she said, "that things weren't so awful good with me."
Dr. Simons laughed a little. His laugh would have deceived no one. It was hollow, false. Dissipating fear was evidently no part of his bedside manner.
"You want your own doctor back, eh?" His attempt to jeer pleasantly fell flat. His expression was too anxious, too intent on her answer, for his words to pass as mere persiflage.
"I've had Dr. Stewart for months," Dot said, gravely, "and I feel as though I had had him for years. I'd let him cut my head off, and I wouldn't doubt but what he could get it back on again."
"That's very flattering trust," said Dr. Simons.
Dot felt a little sorry for him now. Perhaps her dis= closure of how she felt toward Dr. Stewart had been unkind, and certainly unnecessary.
She laughed uncomfortably. "I'm used to him," she said. "That's it, I suppose. Have you heard from him lately?"
"Yes," said Dr. Simons. "I had a wire from him this morning."
Miss Henderson came and urged Dot into the other room, where she helped her prepare for the examination. Dr. Simons was, on this occasion, content with the most perfunctory of investigations.
"Well," he said, as Dot returned to the office, "I guess you'll have your doctor with you in three or four days."
"Oh, did he say so in the wire you got?"
Dr. Simons shook his head. "I'm going to send for him
