Grandma P. [Aside to Mamma P.] What odd ways he has, to be sure. But then they say that's the way he talks to everybody.
Dr. H. My dear madam, you have tried to make a girl out of sugar and almond paste, and now you are distressed that she has not red blood in her veins and that her lungs gasp and flutter as she goes up-stairs. Turn her out to grass, my dear madam, turn her out to grass!
Aunt F. [With hands over ears] Oh, oh!
Dr. H. Yes, I mean what I say. Send her to old Mother Nature to nurse.
Mamma P. [Exultantly] I have said all along, Doctor, that I thought we ought to have a trained nurse for Emily.
Dr. H. Trained fiddlesticks! [All start] Send her somewhere to a good honest farmhouse in the hills, and let her run barefoot in the morning dew, drink new milk from the cow—
Mamma P. [Interrupts] Oh, Doctor, not new milk! Not unsterilized milk! [Aunt F. holds up hands in horror]
Dr. H. I mean what I say, madam. Let her drink new milk from the cow, romp in a good wide barn, learn to hunt hens' eggs, a few things like this, and I warrant me you'll see another pair of cheeks in a year. Take off all whalebones and strings around her lungs. Give her a chance, madam, give her a chance!
Mamma P. But what medicine shall she take, Doctor?
Dr. H. [Roars his disapproval] Medicine? No medicine. Medicine won't do her any good. You may make an apothecary's shop of her stomach—