When he finished medical college Dick Livingstone had found, like other

men, that the two paths of ambition and duty were parallel and did not

meet. Along one lay his desire to focus all his energy in one direction,

to follow disease into the laboratory instead of the sick room, and

there to fight its unsung battles. And win. He felt that he would win.

Along the other lay David.

It was not until he had completed his course and had come home that he

had realized that David was growing old. Even then he might have felt

that, by the time David was compelled to relinquish his hold on his

practice, he himself would be sufficiently established in his specialty

to take over the support of the household. But here there was interposed

a new element, one he had not counted on. David was fiercely jealous of

his practice; the thought that it might pass into new and alien hands

was bitter to him. To hand it down to his adopted son was one thing; to

pass it over to "some young whipper-snapper" was another.

Nor were David's motives selfish or unworthy. His patients were his

friends. He had a sense of responsibility to them, and very little

faith in the new modern methods. He thought there was a great deal of

tomfoolery about them, and he viewed the gradual loss of faith in drugs

with alarm. When Dick wore rubber gloves during their first obstetric

case together he snorted.

"I've delivered about half the population of this town," he said, "and

slapped 'em to make 'em breathe with my own bare hands. And I'm still

here and so are they."

For by that time Dick had made his decision. He could not abandon

David. For him then and hereafter the routine of a general practice in a

suburban town, the long hours, the varied responsibilities, the feeling

he had sometimes that by doing many things passably he was doing none of

them well. But for compensation he had old David's content and greater

leisure, and Lucy Crosby's gratitude and love.

Now and then he chafed a little when he read some article in a medical

journal by one of his fellow enthusiasts, or when, in France, he saw

men younger than himself obtaining an experience in their several

specialties that would enable them to reach wide fields at home. But

mostly he was content, or at least resigned. He was building up the

Livingstone practice, and his one anxiety was lest the time should come

when more patients asked for Doctor Dick than for Doctor David. He did

not want David hurt.




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