“Rheumatism, and, I believe, fever; for her hand is hot, and her tongue very white. She was lying in bed with no one to help her, and had not strength to reach a drop of water, until I gave it to her.”
“Poor old soul!” said the widow. “And yet they say that she has money?”
“I don’t think that she has much,” replied I; “for when she lent me the twenty-eight shillings, she had not ten shillings more in the bag. But, doctor, I’ll pay you; I will, indeed. How much will it be?”
“Now, doctor, just put on your hat, and set off as soon as you please; for if Poor Jack says he’ll pay you, you know that your money is as safe as mine was in the bank—before it failed.”
“Well, I’ll just finish my cigar.”
“Of course you will—as you walk along, Mr Tadpole,” replied the widow; “it’s very pleasant to smoke in the air, and just as unpleasant to others your smoking in the house. So, doctor, just be off and see the poor old wretch directly, or—I’ll be affronted.”
Hereupon the doctor took up his hat, and without reply walked off with me. When we arrived, I unlocked the door and we went in.
“Well, old Nanny, what’s the matter now?” said Doctor Tadpole. “Nothing, doctor, nothing; you’ve come on a useless message; I didn’t send for you, recollect that; it was Jack who would go; I did not send, recollect that, doctor; I can’t afford it; I’ve no money.”
“Very well, I sha’n’t look to you for money. Put out your tongue,” replied the doctor, as he felt her pulse.
“Recollect, doctor, I did not send for you. Jack, you are witness—I’ve no money,” repeated old Nanny.