Mr. and Mrs. Mudge both winced under this plain speaking, but they did not dare to give expression to their anger, for they knew well that Dr. Townsend was an influential man in town, and, by representing the affair in the proper quarter, might render their hold upon their present post a very precarious one. Mr. Mudge therefore contented himself with muttering that he guessed he worked as hard as anybody, and he didn't complain of his fare.
“May I ask you, Mr. Mudge,” said the doctor, fixing his penetrating eye full upon him, “whether you confine yourself to the food upon which you have kept this boy?”
“Well,” said Mr. Mudge, in some confusion, moving uneasily in his seat, “I can't say but now and then I eat something a little different.”
“Do you eat at the same table with the inmates of your house?”
“Well, no,” said the embarrassed Mr. Mudge.
“Tell me plainly,—how often do you partake of this soup?”
“I aint your patient,” said the man, sullenly, “Why should you want to know what I eat?”
“I have an object in view. Are you afraid to answer?”
“I don't know as there's anything to be afraid of. The fact is, I aint partial to soup; it don't agree with me, and so I don't take it.”
“Did you ever consider that this might be the case with others as well as yourself?” inquired the doctor with a glance expressive of his contempt for Mr. Mudge's selfishness. Without waiting for a reply, Dr. Townsend ordered Paul to be put to bed immediately, after which he would leave some medicine for him to take.