The doctor went faithfully every day and dressed little
Murdock's wound until it no longer needed his care,
remaining perfectly sober meanwhile. Hope sprang up in
Mary's heart--for love believeth all things.
At night when he went to bed and she carefully locked
the doors and took the keys to her room, she breathed a
sigh of relief. One more day won!
But alas for Mary's hopes! They were built upon the
slipping, sliding sands of human desire. One night she
found him in the office of the hotel; a red-faced,
senseless, gibbering old man, arguing theology with a
brother Scotchman, who was in the same condition of mellow
exhilaration.
Mary's white face as she guided her father through the
door had an effect upon the men who sat around the office.
Kind-hearted fellows they were, and they felt sorry for
the poor little motherless girl, sorry for "old Doc" too.
One after another they went home, feeling just a little
ashamed.
The bartender, a new one from across the line, a dapper
chap with diamonds, was indignant. "I'll give that old
man a straight pointer," he said, "that his girl has to
stay out of here. This is no place for women, anyway"--which
is true, God knows.
Five years went by and Mary Barner lived on in the lonely
house and did all that human power could do to stay her
father's evil course. But the years told heavily upon
him. He had made some fatal mistakes in his prescribing,
and the people had been compelled to get in another
doctor, though a great many of those who had known him
in his best days still clung to the "old man" in spite
of his drinking.
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