All I inquired when he ceased speaking was what branch of the profession he intended to follow.
"Any branch," he said, bitterly, "which will put bread into the mouth of a poor man." At this, Arthur, who had been hitherto watching him in silent curiosity, burst out impetuously in his usual good-humored way: "My dear fellow" (everybody was "my dear fellow" with Arthur), "now you have come to life again, don't begin by being down-hearted about your prospects.

I'll answer for it I can help you to some capital thing in the medical line, or, if I can't, I know my father can." The medical student looked at him steadily.
"Thank you," he said, coldly; then added, "May I ask who your father is ?" "He's well enough known all about this part of the country," replied Arthur.

"He is a great manufacturer, and his name is Holliday." My hand was on the man's wrist during this brief conversation.

The instant the name of Holliday was pronounced I felt the pulse under my fingers flutter, stop, go on suddenly with a bound, and beat afterward for a minute or two at the fever rate.
"How did you come here ?" asked the stranger, quickly, excitably, passionately almost.
Arthur related briefly what had happened from the time of his first taking the bed at the inn.
"I am indebted to Mr.Holliday's son, then, for the help that has saved my life," said the medical student, speaking to himself, with a singular sarcasm in his voice.

"Come here!" He held out, as he spoke, his long, white, bony right hand.
"With all my heart," said Arthur, taking his hand cordially.