THE PHILOSOPHER 41.

though he had but few patients and these of the
poorer sort who were unable to pay, he seemed to
have plenty of money for his needs. He slept
in the oflice that was unspeakably dirty and dined
at Bifi Carter’s lunch room in a small frame
building opposite the railroad station. In the
summer the lunch room was filled with flies and
Bifi Carter’s white apron was more dirty than his
floor. Doctor Parcival did not mind. Into the
lunch room he stalked and deposited twenty cents
upon the counter. “Feed me_ what you wish for
that,” he said laughing. “Use up food that you
wouldn’t otherwise sell. It makes no difierence
to me. I am a man of distinction, you see. Why
should I concern myself with what I eat.”

The tales that Doctor Parcival told George
Willard began nowhere and ended nowhere.
Sometimes the boy thought they must all be inven-
tions, a pack of lies. And then again he was
convinced that they contained the very essence of
truth.

“I was a reporter like you here,” Doctor Par-
cival began. “It was in a town in Iowa—or was
it in Illinois? I don’t remember and anyway it
makes no diFference. Perhaps I am trying to
conceal my identity and don’t want to be very
definite. Have you ever thought it strange that
I have money for my needs although I do nothing?
I may have stolen a great sum of money or been