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When they reached the office, Dr. Parkman offered him a drink; that
irritated him considerably.
"Why no," he said, fretfully, "No--I don't want a drink. Why should I
take a drink? Did you think I was all shot to pieces about something?"
The doctor was looking over his mail, fingering it a great deal, but not
seeming to accomplish much of anything with it. At last he wheeled around
toward him.
"What's the matter with your eyes?" he asked with disconcerting
directness.
"How should I know?" retorted Karl, heatedly, almost angrily. "What do I
know about it? If an oculist can't tell--you say he is a good one--why
should you expect me to?" And then he added with a touch of eagerness, as
if seizing upon a possibility: "I don't believe that fellow amounts to
much. I think I'll go out now and hunt up somebody who knows something."
"The man's all right," said Dr. Parkman shortly. His own foot was tapping
the floor nervously. "You ought to have some idea," he added, with what
he felt to be brutal insistence, "as to whether or not you got anything
in your eyes.


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