"I'm a Eclectic," he responded glibly. "And do you know, Teacher, I'd been practisin' that there style of medicine fur near twelve years before I knowed it was just to say the Eclectic School, you understand."
"Like Moliere's prose-writer!" remarked the teacher, then smiled at himself for making such an allusion in such a place.
"Won't you have some more sliced radishes, Teacher?" urged the hostess. "I made a-plenty."
"No, I thank you," Fairchilds replied, with his little air of courtesy that so impressed the whole family. "I can't eat radishes in the evening with impunity."
"But these is with WINEGAR," Mrs. Wackernagel corrected him.
Before Mr. Fairchilds could explain, Mr. Wackernagel broke in, confirming the doctor's proud claim.
"Yes, Doc he's a Eclectic," he repeated, evidently feeling that the fact reflected credit on the hotel. "You can see his sign on the side door."
"I was always interested in science," explained the doctor, under the manifest impression that he was continuing the subject. "Phe-non-e-ma. That's what I like. Odd things. I'm stuck on 'em! Now this here wireless teleGRAPHY. I'm stuck on that, you bet! To me that there's a phe-non-e-ma."
"Teacher," interrupted Mrs. Wackernagel, "you ain't eatin' hearty. Leave me give you some more sausage."
"If you please," Mr. Fairchilds bowed as he handed his plate to her.