"Nothin' particular," replied the locum, "exceptin' a woman in Burbidge Street. Mrs. Groat, I think the name is. Had a sort of row with her. It's the daughter's case really—a confinement; but when I got there the old cow came to the door and she wouldn't let me in. Said her daughter had engaged with you, and she didn't want no blasted schoolboys. She was rather offensive."
"After all," said Doctor Brink, rising clumsily to his feet and holding hard to all of us, "she did engage with me. It's a damnable nuisance; but I'll have to go round."
"Oh, rot," cried the locum. "Let the old fool rip."
"Wait till Beaver catches you, that's all," observed his daughter.
"You are a fool, Brink," said I.
"She's been round here twice already, while you were out, Tewksbury," continued Doctor Brink. "All the family's been here, in fact; they're much excited and very drunk. I expect they've been working on the patient, and unless we do something she'll get into a frenzy and croak. I shall have to go. Where's my damned hat?"
"Now look here, Fatty," expostulated James, "you simply aren't going to be allowed to go. You——"
"Old girl," said the doctor quietly, "subside. I'm going."
So saying, the doctor grasped my shoulder in a grip that was not all of friendship. "You come the other side," he said to James. "Tewksbury, you mind the shop. Now we're off. Steady, now. Slowly. That's good. Steady, now. Steady. Good again. Oh, Kreisler!"
It was an exciting journey across the sitting-room, and that down the stairway even more so. And when at last we gained the street, the bulk of the journey lay before us. We accomplished it somehow—it lasted less than a year, at any rate—and when we had at last arrived at the interesting residence of Mrs. Groat, and had deposited the doctor on its doorstep, the lady herself came out to greet us.