“I thought you said you were going to be a doctor,” said Fru Egholm, with an innocent expression, winking at Madam Hermansen.
“Both. And then we can save on the advertising. ‘Egholm’s United Surgeries and Soap Factories.’”
“And one as bad as the other.” Anna had to shout aloud to make herself heard through the tempest of Madam Hermansen’s laughter.
“Say, rather, one as good as the other. Oh, I shall be famous all over Denmark, all over Europe. We’ll have an advertisement for the doctoring on all the soap wrappers: speciality—broken legs!”
“If only you don’t break your neck holding your head in the air.”
“Oh, I wasn’t thinking of bones,” said Egholm, delighted with the effect he was producing. “I was referring to the fracture of wooden legs.”
“Well, now, I wonder if you could set this to rights for me?” said Fru Hermansen, patting her calf.
“Easily! What’s the matter?”
“Well, I don’t know that it’s proper for me to show you, but never mind. We’re both married folk. This leg of mine’s been bad for—let me see—fifteen or sixteen years it is now. And Dr. Hoff, he’s no idea, the way he’s messed about with it.”