To these gifts, priceless to a young medical man, might be added boundless ambition and considerable common sense.
The yellow envelope which contained the few lines meaning life or death to little Hiram Joash Baker was delivered at Dr.Morgan's Back Bay office at ten minutes past ten.

Dr.Payson--that was the assistant's name--was out, but Jackson, the colored butler, took the telegram into his employer's office, laid it on the desk among the papers, and returned to the hall to finish his nap in the armchair.

When Dr.Payson came in, at 11:30, the sleepy Jackson forgot to mention the dispatch.
The next morning as Jackson was cleaning the professional boots in the kitchen and chatting with the cook, the thought of the yellow envelope came back to his brain.

He went up the stairs with such precipitation that the cook screamed, thinking he had a fit.
"Doctah! Doctah!" he exclaimed, opening the door of the assistant's chamber, "did you git dat telegraft I lef' on your desk las' night ?" "What telegraph ?" asked the assistant sleepily.

By way of answer Jackson hurried out and returned with the yellow envelope.