“I should be, my dear boy,” said the doctor, “if I could only get rid of the feeling that I shall be an impostor.”
Frank laughed pleasantly.
“That feeling troubling you again?” he said. “How absurd! Are you going to cheat the poor creatures you attend with sham medicines?”
“Am I going to do what?” said the doctor indignantly.
“And play tricks with the wounds they are suffering from?”
“My dear Frank!”
“And make believe to extract bullets and sew up wounds, or set broken bones?”
“My good lad, are you talking in your sleep? Did I ever do anything but my very best for the poor creatures to whom my poor skill was necessary—did I ever give less attention to the humblest patient than I do to the wealthiest or highest in position?”
“Never,” said Frank warmly. “That big, generous disposition of yours would never have allowed it.”
“Then why did you talk in so absurd a strain?” Frank laughed merrily, and for the time being he was the schoolboy again.