dropped the hint that some months for Malachi in the surgical ward of a great hospital, with the attentions of a certain eminent specialist and the use of some newly contrived and very expensive apparatus, might work a great improvement in the afflicted man's condition.
There was general talk and nothing decided. But the next day George called on the physician in his office.
"Say, Doc, what will it cost?" he asked eagerly—and anxiously.
Doctor Denman was thoughtful, wiping his glasses and staring out the window. "Figuring the lowest possible, and with the specialist cutting seventy-five per cent. off his fee, about $1200."
"Twelve—twelve hundred!" gasped George hollowly. "Twelve hundred to try it?"
"To try it—hospital bills and all."
"And it may not help?"
"It may not."
"But it might?"
"It might."
George's voice was getting steadier and steadier, until he gulped the proposition down. "I can pay you forty dollars a month till the twelve hundred's paid," he said, having made swift calculations.
The experiment failed.
Malachi Judson came home from the hospital
