"If he has to do this for a living I'm
sorry for him, and if he isn't compelled to he's probably some sort of
useful crank."
"At any rate Sweetapple Cove appreciates him," I said.
"I have no doubt he's an angel with pin-feathers sprouting all over him,"
retorted Dad. "But it isn't business, which I take the liberty of
defining as the way of making the best of one's opportunities instead of
frittering them away. He has unquestionably done a few dozens of poor
devils a lot of good, including myself. But he could find many more
cripples in any big city, and a few of them might have bank accounts."
Just then we heard some one whistling. I was interested to note that the
tune was from a fairly recent comic opera that can hardly have reached
the general population of Sweetapple Cove.
"There is your crank," I said, rather viciously.
He knocked at the door and came in, breezily, as he generally does.
"I've got to be off," he announced. "I shall probably not return till
to-morrow night, or perhaps the morning after. You are getting along very
well, Mr. Jelliffe. Just let me have another look before I go away."
The inspection seemed to be entirely satisfactory.
"Well, I'll run now," said Dr. Grant. "I'll come and see you the moment I
get back."
He hurried out again, and I saw him join Sammy and the Frenchman. I waved
my hand at him as the boat was leaving the cove, but I suppose that he
wasn't looking for he made no answer, though Yves wigwagged with a
flaming bandanna.
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