had gone to Chicago. Doctor Steinlin had made a thorough examination of Scobee's eyes. His verdict was rather disquieting. Scobee had asked for the truth and Steinlin had respected his wishes.
"I can do nothing," he said. "Apparently there is little the matter with your eyes. The nerves are shocked in some peculiar manner. Perhaps some day your sight may return of its own accord."
"However," broke in Scobee, "you believe that if such a thing should occur it would be a miracle."
"That's putting it rather bluntly," said Steinlin hesitantly.
"But truthfully nevertheless," persisted Scobee.
"Yes," was the reluctant admission. "I would indeed consider it a miracle. I have had much experience with cases almost similar to yours. I have never been able to effect a cure."
For awhile Scobee sat in silence. His life was growing to be nothing but one shock after
another. It meant that all romance for him
