"My own idea, Doctor," said Mrs. Skelp, as she made her exit, "is a pint an' a 'arf—let us say two pints—of stout and bitter. But I leave the particklers to you, sir."
When she had really gone the doctor saw some other patients—droves of them. And the last of the drove was a large red man, who had called in to discuss his "constitootion."
"It's run down, Doctor," he explained. "That's what it is. Me constitootion is run down. Whenever I draws a slow, long breath, it is the same as if there was snakes and scorpions inside me. Very painful it is."
"Then take a quick, short breath," suggested Dr. Brink.
The patient ignored this obvious response. He did not pay his sixpence to be treated to the obvious. "Also," he continued, "it 'urts me when I whistle."
"Then don't whistle," said the doctor.
"The long and the short of it is," pursued the patient, again ignoring the voice of science, "that my constitootion is thoroughly run down.... I ... I was wondering, Doctor.... Can you tell me if water is a safe thing for anybody to drink?"
The Doctor started. "Water is Nature's beverage," he observed.
"But don't you think, Doctor," suggested the invalid, "that when a man 'as got 'is constitootion into a thoroughly onnatural state, the same as what mine is, that a pint or so of onnatural licker——"
"Oh ... a pint or so ... yes," put in the doctor.