“Miss Tyrrell’s throat does not seem to make much progress. Do you understand the case, Mr. Harrison, or should we have further advice. I think Mr. Morgan would probably know more about it.”
I assured her it was the simplest thing in the world; that it always implied a little torpor in the constitution, and that we preferred working through the system, which of course was a slow process; and that the medicine the young lady was taking (iodide of iron) was sure to be successful, although the progress would not be rapid. She bent her head and said, “It might be so; but she confessed she had more confidence in medicines which had some effect.”
She seemed to expect me to tell her something; but I had nothing to say, and accordingly I bade good-bye. Somehow, Miss Tomkinson always managed to make me feel very small, by a succession of snubbings; and, whenever I left her I had always to comfort myself under her contradictions by saying to myself, “Her saying it is so, does not make it so.” Or I invented good retorts which I might have made to her brusque speeches, if I had but thought of them at the right time. But it was provoking that I had not had the presence of mind to recollect them just when they were wanted.
The Young Doctor’s Dilemma
From Mr. Harrison’s Confessions, The Ladies’ Companion.
A few days after the sale, I was in the consulting-room. The servant must have left the folding-doors a little ajar, I think. Mrs. Munton came to call on Mrs. Rose; and the former being deaf, I heard all the speeches of the latter lady, as she was obliged to speak very loud in order to be heard. She began:
“This is a great pleasure, Mrs. Munton, so seldom as you are well enough to go out.”
Mumble, mumble, mumble, through the door.
“Oh, very well, thank you. Take this seat, and then you can admire my new work-table, ma’am; a present from Mr. Harrison.”