"Dr. Patten," Engle was saying, "this is our cousin, Virginia Page."
Dr. Patten acknowledged the introduction and sat down, turning to ask
"how Florrie was today?" Virginia smiled, sensing a rebuke to herself
in his manner; to-day on the stage she had made it obvious even to him
that if she must speak with a stranger she would vastly prefer the talk
of the stage-driver than that of Dr. Caleb Patten. When Florence,
replying briefly, turned to the piano Patten addressed Norton.
"What was our good sheriff doing to-day?" he asked banteringly, as
though the subject he chose were the most apt one imaginable for jest.
"Another man killed in broad daylight and no one to answer for it! Why
don't you go get 'em, Roddy?"
Norton stared at him steadily and finally said soberly:
"When a disease has fastened itself upon the body of a community it
takes time to work a cure, Dr. Patten."
"But not much time to let the life out of a man like the chap from Las
Palmas! Why, the man who did the shooting couldn't have done a nicer
job if he'd been a surgeon. One bullet square through the carotid
artery . . . That leads from the heart to the head," he explained as
though his listeners were children athirst for knowledge which he and
none other could impart. "The cerebrum penetrated by a second.
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