"
"Can I do anything?" asked Miss Clopsey, rising. "How dreadful! Shall I
go for hot water?"
"Oh, don't be alarmed," said Miss Panney, hurrying the amazed doctor out
of the room; "it is chronic. He will be back in no time."
Miss Clopsey, left alone in the office, sank back in her chair.
"Chronic by jerks," she sighed; "there can be few things worse than that;
and at her age, too!"
"What can be the matter?" asked the doctor, as the two stood in
the parlor.
"It is an idea," said Miss Panney; "you cannot think with what violence
it seized me. Doctor, what became of that book you wrote on the
'Diagnosis of Sympathy'?"
The doctor opened his eyes in astonishment.
"Nothing has become of it. It has been in my desk for two years. I have
not had time even to copy it."
"And of course your writing could not be trusted to a printer. Now what
you should do is this: employ that Drane girl to copy your manuscript.
She can do it here, and if she comes to a word she cannot make out, she
can ask you. That will keep her going until autumn, and by that time we
can get her some scholars.
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