"You must see your landlord about that."
"You wouldn't sind me to him, dochthor."
"I'm no doctor, good woman," said the clerk, now thoroughly annoyed, "and you've come to the wrong shop, as I told you."
"How do you use the water?" inquired the woman.
"Why, you turn the cock and let it on—in this way," said the clerk, letting a little Cochituate into a basin. "There, go along now, and go to the doctor's, as I have directed you."
"Sorrow a dochthor I go to but the water dochthor, this blissid day," said the woman, and she left the office.
She repaired to her cellar in no enviable frame of mind. She was sick and discouraged, and labored under the impression that she had been to the right place, but they had imposed upon her, from an unwillingness to aid her. In the mean while, however, during her absence, a service pipe had been admitted into her premises by the landlord, though she was not aware of the fact. She became acquainted with it soon enough, however. The next morning, about four o'clock, as she lay on the floor, bemoaning her hard fate and the neglect of the "dochthor," she heard a rushing noise. The water pipe had burst, and a stream, like a fountain, was now steadily falling into the cellar.
"Bless their hearts!" exclaimed the old woman, "they haven't forgotten the poor. The dochthor's sent the water at last—and I must lie still and take it."
The first shock of the invading flood was a severe one.