"Still," mused the doctor, "when people aren't used to that sort of damfoolery—— I don't want my statistics mucked up. Besides, there's the expense. And——"
"Oh, blow the 'ands,'" replied his little daughter. "You've engaged the man, and you've got to keep him. And you've got to pay him. He's come here prepared to do a week's work, so for goodness sake let him do it. I'm sure he's willing enough, at any rate."
"Willing?" repeated the doctor; "my dear girl, he is the ultimate thing in eagerness. I——"
But the doctor's further observations on this head were interrupted by the entry of the subject of them—a young gentleman in correct dress, with fair hair and a face, who was introduced to me as Doctor Tewksbury.
"I am sorry to say, Doctor," remarked this young man, "that that old woman in Mulberry Buildings is dead."
"What!" cried Doctor Brink. "Poor old Mrs. Thacker? I'm sorry. She was a nice old thing."
"Yes," assented Doctor Tewksbury, "an interesting old hag—such marked symptoms. I wish I'd exhibited bromide."
"It wouldn't have made any difference," said Doctor Brink.
"Of course not," responded Doctor Tewksbury. "She was quite hopeless; but still bromide was clearly indicated. Hullo—foot hurting?"
"Not—not more than usual," answered Doctor Brink. "My back was tickling. That's all. Any news?"