The doctor followed Aleck out of the hall and across the street to his room in a little boarding-house. His door was locked, and the windows darkened by blinds. Instead of opening the blinds he lighted a lamp.
“Ob cose, Dr. Cammun, you say nuffin ’bout what I gwine tell you?”
“Certainly not, Aleck.”
The room was full of drygoods boxes. The space under the bed was packed, and they were piled to the ceiling around the walls.
“Why, what’s all this, Aleck?”
The member from Ulster chuckled:
“Dr. Cammun, yu’se been er pow’ful frien’ ter me—gimme medicine lots er times, en I hain’t nebber paid you nuttin’. I’se sho’ come inter de kingdom now, en I wants ter pay my respects ter you, sah. Des look ober dat paper, en mark what you wants, en I hab ’em sont home fur you.”
The member from Ulster handed his physician a printed list of more than five hundred articles of merchandise. The doctor read it over with amazement.
“I don’t understand it, Aleck. Do you own a store?”
“Na-sah, but we git all we wants fum mos’ eny ob ’em. Dem’s ‘sundries,’ sah, dat de Gubment gibs de members. We des orda what we needs. No trouble ’tall, sah. De men what got de goods come roun’ en beg us ter take ’em.”