The doctor handed them each a glass and raised his own.
"Let us drink," he said, "to Coombe. 'Coombe and the Soul cure!'"
"Amen!" said Willits.
"Land sakes!" said Mrs. Sykes. "I thought it was his spine!"
CHAPTER VIII
Zerubbabel Burk sat upon his stool of office in the doctor's consulting room, swinging his legs. Would-be discoverers of perpetual motion might have received many hints from Bubble, though he himself would have scorned to consider the swinging of legs as motion. He was under the delusion that he was sitting perfectly still. For the doctor was asleep.
Asleep, at four o'clock on a glorious summer day! No wonder his friend and partner wore a tragic face.
"Doesn't seem to care a hang if he never gets any patients!" mused Bubble, resentfully, stealing a half fond, half angry glance at the placid face of the sleeper. "Only two folks in all day and one a kid with a pin in its throat. And all he says is, 'Don't worry, son, we're getting on fine!' We'll go smash one of these days, that's what we'll do—just smash!"
"Tap-tap" sounded the blinds which were drawn over the western windows. A pleasant little breeze was trying to come in. "Buzz" sounded a fly on the wall. Bubble arose noisily and killed it with a resounding "thwack."
"Wake the doctor, would you?" he said. "Take that!"