"You're most surprising
of all when you're sensible, Bibbs."
"Yes," he sighed. "I'm a dull dog. Shake hands and forgive me,
Edith."
Thawing so far as to smile, she underwent this brief ceremony, and
George appeared, summoning Bibbs to the library; Dr. Gurney was
waiting there, he announced. And Bibbs gave his sister a shy but
friendly touch upon the shoulder as a complement to the handshaking,
and left her.
Dr. Gurney was sitting by the log fire, alone in the room, and he
merely glanced over his shoulder when his patient came in. He was
not over fifty, in spite of Sheridan's habitual "ole Doc Gurney."
He was gray, however, almost as thin as Bibbs, and nearly always
he looked drowsy.
"Your father telephoned me yesterday afternoon, Bibbs," he said,
not rising. "Wants me to 'look you over' again. Come around here
in front of me--between me and the fire. I want to see if I can
see through you."
"You mean you're too sleepy to move," returned Bibbs, complying.
"I think you'll notice that I'm getting worse."
"Taken on about twelve pounds," said Gurney. "Thirteen, maybe."
"Twelve."
"Well, it won't do." The doctor rubbed his eyelids.
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