“‘The “pooh” was all well enough,’ said the attending physician, afterwards, ‘but it took several guineas out of my pocket.’”
“Up Three Pair, Back.”
A surgeon—pupil of the above—was requested to visit a patient in a low quarter of the suburbs of the metropolis. When he arrived, and mounted several flights of crazy stairs, he began searching for the designated number, which was so defaced by time that he was only enabled to determine it by the more legible condition of the next number.
SEARCH FOR A PATIENT.
An old woman answered the shake of the dilapidated knocker.
“Does Captain Blank live here?”
“Yes, sir,”—trying to penetrate the darkness.
“Is he at home?”
“Yes, sir. Please, may I make so bold as to ask, are you the doctor?”