Already Hobson, upon whom the germ of that idea had dawned, began to
be infected with his enthusiasm.
"It's a gorgeous stunt," he acknowledged, as he followed his companion
into a taxicab. "If we bring it off, it's going to knock the
movies silly."
Katharine, weary at last of waving her hand to the indistinct blur of
faces upon the dock, picked up the great clusters of roses which late
arrivals had thrust into her arms at the last moment, and descended to
her stateroom upon the saloon deck. She spent only a few minutes
looking at the arrangement of her things, and then knocked at the door
of the stateroom exactly opposite. A thick-browed, heavy-looking man,
sombrely and professionally dressed, opened the door.
"Are you wanting me, Doctor Gant?" she asked.
The doctor shook his head.
"The patient is asleep," he announced in a whisper.
Katharine stepped inside and stood looking down upon the pale, almost
ghastly face of the man stretched at full length upon the bed.
"Why, I remember him perfectly," she exclaimed. "He was in Number
Three Ward for some time. Surely he was a clerk at one of the
drygoods stores down-town?"
The doctor nodded.
"Very likely."
"I remember the case," Katharine continued,--"appendicitis, followed
by pneumonia, and complicated by angina pectoris.
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