"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.

After ten years the strangeness of his situation had ceased to be
strange. Always he meant some time to go back to Norada, and there to
clear up certain things, but it was a long journey, and he had very
little time. And, as the years went on, the past seemed unimportant
compared with the present. He gave little thought to the future.