DOCTOR: That's your fault. I told him you were going to make a fuss, and I suppose he's busy and has put it off until to-morrow.
VISITOR: Can't you make 'im come to-night, Doctor? The boy is very bad. And one of the other boys is sneezin', and the other one 'e says there is a funny feelin' in 'is thumb. Can't you come at once, Doctor?
DOCTOR: Wait one minute, then, till I've written these prescriptions.
VISITOR: Go' bless you, Doctor. We ain't ser much as looked at Dr. Popham's physic. We ain't, straight. The boy is very bad. 'Is face 'as gone a very funny colour. 'Ot this evenin', ain't it? Much obliged to you, I'm sure, Doctor. Think you kin put it right? The boy is bad. It's a 'ot evenin'. What they playin' at in the 'ealth orfice, Doctor—leavin' a man's child to die?
XIX
CURING THE CURER
"Yes, Aunt Isobel," said James—"I quite agree with you. The silly old duffer ought certainly to take an anti-something. He's as down-hearted and high-tempered as possible."
"Certainly," quoth Aunt Isobel—a thin and very definite lady, with a wire-woven manner—"something ought to be done. Your father is looking very unwell. I attribute his condition to overwork and undernourishment."
"Nourishment's all right, Aunt Isobel," protested James. "He eats enough to fill an ox."
Aunt Isobel winced and raised an arresting forearm, as if to ward off some physical menace. "You really do employ the most trying phrases, my dear," she said. "Personally, I am a stronger believer in Anti-Nervo. Two tablets, three times a day—one before each meal, and one after. It is really a quite remarkable remedy. Poverty of blood is one of a great number of complaints for which the makers themselves especially recommend it. Poverty of blood is, of course, your father's chief trouble. He is much under-nourished."