"No, doctor, but we have a lodger who is very low with a fever. I think he is very poor. I am afraid he cannot pay a doctor, but mother thought you would be willing to call."
"To be sure," I said, cheerfully, "I will be at your house in an hour."
An hour found me ringing at the door of Mrs. Graham's plain lodging house.
"I thought you would come, Dr. Fenwick," said the good woman, who personally answered the bell. "You come in good time, for poor Mr. Douglas is very sick."
"I will follow you to his room."
He occupied a small room on the third floor. It was furnished in plain fashion. The patient, a man who was apparently nearing fifty, was tossing restlessly on his bed. Poorly situated as he was, I could see that in health he must have been a man of distinguished bearing. Poverty and he seemed ill-mated.
"Mr. Douglas," said the landlady, "this is Dr. Fenwick. I took the liberty of calling him, as you are so ill."
The sick man turned upon me a glance from a pair of full, black eyes.
"Dr. Fenwick," he said, sadly, "I thank you for coming, but I am almost a pauper, and I fear I cannot pay you for your services."
"That matters little," I replied. "You need me, that is enough. Let me feel your pulse."