"I wasn't laughing," protested the doctor. "I was yawning."
"Then what are you yawning at?"
"Up all night," explained the doctor.
"Ah!" quoth Mrs. Roper mysteriously, "I see, you're one of the jolly sort.... What you gointer do about me?"
The doctor equivocated. "Where's your husband?" he said.
Mrs. Roper closed both eyes and shook her head. "Wherever the man may be," she responded, "you may be sure as it ain't be the bedside of 'is dying wife. 'E's one of your jolly sort, likewise. 'E's one o' them good-tempered, popular fellars, 'e is. 'E don't want no medicine."
"I was not proposing to give him any medicine," explained the doctor. "I would like to talk to him concerning the painful state of—ah—health in which—ah—you find yourself. When will he be in?"
"Ain't you got some more riddles you would like to ask a person?" responded Mrs. Roper, with a bitter laugh. "How in gracious do I know when the man will be in? 'E's one of these pleasant men, I tell you. The sort as is always ready with a laugh or a joke or a funny remark. 'E ain't got time, bless you, to trouble 'is jolly self about no wives. 'E's one of your 'appy men—the sort that makes friends, and so on. 'E would rather be out with 'is friends, 'e would, listenin' to their flattery, than sit at 'ome 'ere with 'is lawful wife and 'ear the truth about 'isself. 'E's a plain man, too, and stammers 'orrible."
"I think," suggested Dr. Brink, "that I shall have to call again when he is in, and talk things over with him. I can see," added my excellent and ambiguous friend, "that what you want is more attention."
"What I want," retorted Mrs. Roper, "is me wooden ulster. The sooner the better. Attention won't save me now—even if I could get it. I'm gone too far. And what is the use of a 'usband's idea of attention? If you want to see the kind of attention 'e gives me, just cast your eye on the table there. Them things in the corner is supposed to be lemons. 'E sent them in. Look at 'em! 'E on'y sent 'em 'cause I asked 'im, mind you. Is it much to ask, d'ye think, Doctor? And me at death's door! Look at 'em, I say. They're furrin lemons."