“This afternoon I was visiting a patient—one of the Burbles.”
“Not my dear old Nicodemus?”
“Not Nicodemus—a niece of his. She told me that her father was in great pain, suffering horribly. I admit frankly that I ought to have asked her if some other doctor was attending him. My excuse—if it be an excuse—is that I was much rushed, also I have hardly had time to pick up the threads of Dr. Pawley’s practice. I supposed that my patient’s father, living in the same house, had been attended by Dr. Pawley.”
“Quite naturally.”
“So I went up. I found the old fellow in the most shocking condition—a mass of bedsores, and suffering from an abscess in the hip.”
“Perfectly horrible!”
“With the greatest reluctance, I must still further lacerate your feelings. It seems that two months ago the man broke his leg. Dr. Snitterfield refused to set it, partly on account of the man’s age—he is over seventy—and partly because of the hip disease. I can assure you positively that his leg could have been set two months ago. Ever since he has lain there, most shamefully neglected. Probably he will die of the bedsores.”
“I am inexpressibly shocked, Mr. Grimshaw.”
“I knew you would be.”
“But I don’t quite understand what I can do.”