“Your bill for attending Cousin Rindy. You go to see her every day.”
“I visit the hospital every day, and it is a pity if I am not allowed to drop in for a few minutes to see an old friend. There isn’t going to be any bill sent to Rindy Crump from my office. She can pay the hospital charges, or, rather, you can, but that’s all.”
“You know perfectly well she will never consent to that. She is a great stickler for paying what she owes, and she will be perfectly miserable if you don’t send her a bill.”
The doctor laughed. “I wish all my patients would have a touch of that kind of misery. My soul! Why wasn’t Rindy’s father a doctor so she could claim professional services as her right?”
“But he wasn’t, and she can’t.”
“I suppose you’d call that a laconic fact. I reckon I can be as stiff as she can, and I tell you there isn’t going to be any bill from me.”
“Very well, we won’t call it a bill, but just an exchange of courtesies. You work for us; I work for you. When shall I begin?”
The doctor almost allowed his car to run into a ditch as he turned to look at his companion. “You do beat the Dutch!” he exclaimed. “I’m not going to let you work for me.”
“Sorry you scorn my services. Perhaps you think I’m not equal to the task. I write a fair hand, and can tackle a typewriter on a pinch. If you think I will fall down on that job, some morning you’ll find me scrubbing off your back porch or sweeping down the walk; I’m bound to get even with you some way.” Ellen’s thoughts harked back to the conversation with her cousin.
The doctor was in a brown study the rest of the way home. After he had helped Ellen from the car she stood for a moment and laid her hand on his coat sleeve, looking up pleadingly into his face. “Please, Doctor,” she said.