Therefore I drew on my boots, took my hat and case, and was soon at the designated number. A drunken row, as usual. It was near midnight, Saturday night. A big, burly fellow lay on the bed in a large front room, surrounded by a dozen men and women, nearly all drunk, except the patient. His arm was dislocated at the shoulder downward. I drew off my coat, jumped upon the bed, set the man up, raised the limb, clapped my knee under the limb, raised the arm, and using it for a lever, the bone snapped into the socket as quickly as I am telling the story.
“Ah, that gives me aise; ah, God bless you, docther. How mooch is the damage? Get the wallet, woman, and let me pay the good docther,” said the grateful patient. “How mooch? Say it asy, noo.”
“Two dollars.” A very modest fee for such a job at midnight.
“O, the divil!” cried the woman. “And is it two dollars for the snap of a job likes to that, noo, ye’ll be axin’ a poor man?”
I made no reply. The man asked for the money.
“Will yeze be axin’ that much?” asked a six and a half foot Irishman who stood by the opposite side of the bed.
“Do you have to pay the bill, sir?” I demanded.
“Noo,” he replied.
“Then mind your own business,” I exclaimed, with a clincher, and a flash of the eyes that somehow caused him to cower like the miserable drunken coward he was, amid the laughs and jeers of the bystanders.
