"Come along, then," said Mrs. Fogson, compressing her thin lips. "I don't believe there is anything the matter with that old woman."
"I am a better judge of that matter than you, Mrs. Fogson."
The poor old woman looked thin and wan, and hardly had strength to lift up her head to meet the doctor's glance.
After a brief examination he said: "Your trouble is nervous debility. You have no strength. What you need is nourishment. Do you have tea three times a day, Mrs. Connolly?"
"Only once a week, doctor," wailed the poor old woman, bursting into tears.
"Only once a week!" repeated the doctor shocked. "What does this mean, Mrs. Fogson?"
"It means, Dr. Redmond," answered the mistress of the poorhouse, "that this is not a first-class hotel."
"I should say not," commented the doctor. "How often did you have tea, Mrs. Connolly, when Mr. and Mrs. Avery were here?"
"At breakfast and supper, and on Sundays three times a day."