III.
Speeding along over the lordly plateau beyond Caracas, through a country where the faintest effort on the part of man to cultivate the earth, the least scratch with the hoe, meets with more than abundant response, where, even in the high mountain altitude, sweet fields of cane and coffee bring restful green and delicious shades in the ever-pervading sunlight, we were entertained by some of the party, who were prophesying a hard day and a hot day with a relish which was quite enviable. Why is it that there must always be those who are constantly anticipating hot weather? It seems to be out of the question to escape them; they either predict that it will be, must be, unbearably hot, or unbearably cold, according to the latitude in which they happen to be found. There seems to be no way of getting along comfortably with the present. So we listened while dire forebodings were omened for Valencia, and worse for Puerto Cabello.
In the meantime one of our friends,—Mrs. M—— from Boston,—was suffering with a severe headache, and the Doctor, who had been in the seat ahead of us, was asked if, in that small, black, professional-looking valise, there was not something to relieve her pain. And then the Doctor broke forth once more:
“There’s no use. I can’t stand this any longer. I was called up last night for the sick man in the after-deck stateroom; after each port I am asked to prescribe for men suffering from swizzle jags, and I’m routed out at all hours, and buttonholed by nervous women I don’t know. I wish I could help Mrs. M——; nothing would make me happier. But to tell the truth, I’m not a doctor. I am only a plain business man—a manufacturer. Somehow, when the passenger-list was made up, I was put in as ‘Doctor S——’ and the list was printed and circulated before I knew of my title. Then every one called me ‘Doctor,’ and it was such an easy name to catch that I thought I’d just let it go, and I’ve been ‘Doctor’ to every one ever since; but when it comes to setting a leg or curing a headache, I must put an end to it.”
But the name had become fixed. It was there to stay, so the Doctor was the “Doctor” in spite of his lack of diploma, and, in one sense, by his good cheer, his readiness to join in fun, his stock of good stories, and his consideration for others, he was quite as beneficial to our sometimes weary selves, as if he carried his pockets full of bitter tonic and invigorating elixirs.