The old man flushed. "I thank you for that flattering word, sir," he said.
Halfway down the street I realized that I had forgotten my stethoscope. Accordingly, I retraced my steps.
I found the front door open. I might have walked in without ceremony; but, inspired by a very proper fear of Miss Ada Weeks, I tapped respectfully and waited. There was no response. Presently I became aware of voices proceeding from the front parlour, the door of which stood wide open just inside the passage. This is what I heard.
"Adenitis, and Adenoid Growths—that's the nearest I can find. Which do you want?"
"I think Adenoid Growths, my dear. Read it through once, as usual; then again line by line."
"All right. Pay attention, mind!" said Miss Weeks sharply, and began:
"Adenoid Growths of the lym—lymphatic tissues of the upper throat occur chiefly in children from four to fourteen. Yes, that's right: Johnny Caddick is eight. The child breathes through the mouth—Where do they expect him to breathe through? His ear?—suffers from Nasal Cat—cat something; we'll call it cater—from Nasal Cater. I wonder how people can write such words, let alone read them!"
"To me," said the gentle voice of the old man, "it seems wonderful that they should be able to do either."
"Listen again," commanded Miss Weeks, oblivious of a resounding knock from me.
"—Nasal Cater, and slight deafness; and is stupid and sluggish— This book takes off Johnny Caddick to the life, and no mistake! I wonder what his mother will say—with a cha-rac-ter-is-tic—oh, crumbs!—facial expression. Cure is effected by a simple operation of removal. Does that mean his face? A good job if it does! That's all. Now I'll learn you it. Adenoid Growths—"