Chapter Twelve.
My Patient the Captain.
Captain Greening as he was called was a curious old patient of mine whom I had to attend pretty regularly when I lived at Basingstoke. His title of captain was derived from the fact that he had in his younger days been captain of a barge plying along the canal. His was a chronic case that was incurable, so I rarely called upon him at a busy time, for nothing pleased the old fellow better than buttonholing me for a long talk.
“Look ye here, doctor,” he’d say, “I like you, and it’s a pleasure to be ill that it is, so as to have you to talk to.”
I believe that any good return would have done as well but I did not say so, and we remained the best of friends.
I called upon him one day at his cottage where he very comfortably enjoyed the snug winter of his days, and found him so excited over a newspaper that he forgot all about his asthma, and could only answer my questions with others.
“Have you seen about this Regent’s Park accident?” he exclaimed.
“Yes,” I replied, “I read it all yesterday morning. Terrible affair.”