The Marrow of Tradition. Charles W. Chesnutt

      As the train drew up at the station platform, Dr. Price came forward from the white waiting-room, and stood expectantly by the door of the white coach. Miller, having left his car, came down the platform in time to intercept Burns as he left the train, and to introduce him to Dr. Price.

      “My carriage is in waiting,” said Dr. Price. “I should have liked to have you at my own house, but my wife is out of town. We have a good hotel, however, and you will doubtless find it more convenient.”

      “You are very kind, Dr. Price. Miller, won’t you come up and dine with me?”

      “Thank you, no,” said Miller, “I am expected at home. My wife and child are waiting for me in the buggy yonder by the platform.”

      “Oh, very well; of course you must go; but don’t forget our appointment. Let’s see, Dr. Price, I can eat and get ready in half an hour—that will make it”—

      “I have asked several of the local physicians to be present at eight o’clock,” said Dr. Price. “The case can safely wait until then.”

      “Very well, Miller, be on hand at eight. I shall expect you without fail. Where shall he come, Dr. Price?”

      “To the residence of Major Philip Carteret, on Vine Street.”

      “I have invited Dr. Miller to be present and assist in the operation,” Dr. Burns continued, as they drove toward the hotel. “He was a favorite pupil of mine, and is a credit to the profession. I presume you saw his article in the Medical Gazette?”

      “Yes, and I assisted him in the case,” returned Dr. Price. “It was a colored lad, one of his patients, and he called me in to help him. He is a capable man, and very much liked by the white physicians.”

      Miller’s wife and child were waiting for him in fluttering anticipation. He kissed them both as he climbed into the buggy.