"How?" inquired the doctor.
"You know, mate," expounded Mr. Tusker. "Below par. Orfer oats. See? Jes' run the rule over 'er, Doctor; will ye?"
"Certainly," replied the doctor, the light of intelligence at last illuminating his eye. "Bring the lady inside."
Mr. Tusker accordingly repaired to the roadway, where his barrow was in waiting. It was a roomy barrow, filled to overflowing with bulging sacks, one of which, being pushed, came to life as Mrs. Tusker, and walked into Doctor Brink's consulting-room.
She was a tired old sack, was Mrs. Tusker, much patched, even as to her face, which was further distinguished by being bruised in several places, a fact which accentuated its native homeliness.
"Below par. Orfer oats," repeated Mr. Tusker, with a jerk of the thumb in the direction of the old sack. "Jes' run yere rule over 'er, Doc."
"Had a bad accident, hasn't she?" began the doctor. "That plaster——"
"Never mind the plaster," said the husband.
"No," repeated Mrs. Tusker, "never mind that."
"Orfer oats, see?" prompted Mr. Tusker.