But we cannot be true to our high calling and neglect the
relieving of pain."
The man bowed slightly, and rejoined his companion to whom he conversed
low-voiced with absolute unconsciousness of the audience he had just
been addressing so intimately. The latter hesitated, then slowly
dispersed. Bob stood, his brows knit, trying to recall. There was
something hauntingly familiar about the whole performance. Especially a
strange nasal emphasis on the word "pain" struck sharply a chord in his
recollection. He looked up in sudden enlightenment.
"Painless Porter!" he cried aloud.
The man looked up at the mention of his name.
"That's my name," said he. "What can I do for you?"
"I just remembered where I'd seen you," explained Bob.
"I'm fairly well known."
Bob approached eagerly. The discourse, hollow, insincere,
half-blasphemous, a buncombe bit of advertising as it was, nevertheless
contained the germ of an essential truth for which Bob had been
searching. He wanted to know how, through what experience, the man had
come to this insight.
But his attempts at conversation met with a cold reception.
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