"Mrs. Skelp, sir," interpolated the caller. "Mrs. Skelp, of Peacock Street. You must remember me, sir. I've 'ad you in for me last three."
"Why, of course, I remember you, Mrs. Skelp," responded the shameless physician; "your name had slipped my memory. And how are they all doing?"
"Nicely, thank you, sir," said Mrs. Skelp. "Excepting," she added, as if with a sudden afterthought—"the pore little thing what died. Although I'm sure, doctor—and many's the time I said the same to Skelp—I'm sure you done your best. Though 'ow you made seven visits of it when the child was on'y ill five days is a thing I never could—but, there, let bygones be bygones. About this water now. You think that water's a safe sort of thing for anybody to drink, Doctor?"
"It's—ahem—it's a—er—a natural sort of drink, you know," suggested the doctor.
"Why, cert'nly, Doctor," admitted Mrs. Skelp. "On'y ... Well, so far as that goes, you could say the same of milk."
"You could," assented Dr. Brink.
"And yet," pursued his patient, "it is well known to all of us what milk will do for the system. Look 'ow it puffs you out. Look at that baby of mine, the pore little thing what died. You did your best, Doctor, we all know, but we've often thought since as milk was at the bottom of it. It doesn't do for the likes of us to set ourselves up against the doctor, but you'll remember yerself that I had my suspicions about you ordering so much milk. 'What I think she wants,' I said, is one of your biggest bottles of good dark red, and—— But there, let bygones be bygones. What I really come 'ere for is about this water question. I says to mine last night, I says—'e's a drayman, you know, Doctor.'"
The Doctor nodded.
"Well," suggested Mrs. Skelp, "you know what draymen are. Water's no drink for a drayman, Doctor."
"I—I suppose not," ventured the doctor.