'Think!' ejaculated Mrs. Quale, tossing back her head with a manner less reverent than her words. 'Before you shall have come to my age, girl, it's to be hoped you'll know they are. Isn't it time for the medicine?' she continued, seeing no other opening for a reprimand just then.
It was time for the medicine, and Mrs. Quale poured it out, raised the invalid from her pillow, and administered it. John Baxendale looked on. Like his daughter Mary, he was in these matters an incapable man.
'How long is it since Dr. Bevary was here?' he asked.
'Let's see?' responded Mrs. Quale, who liked to have most of the talking to herself, wherever she might be. 'This is Friday. Tuesday, wasn't it, Mary? Yes, he was here on Tuesday.'
'But why does he not come oftener?' cried John, in a tone of resentment. 'That's what I was wanting to ask about. When one is as ill as she is—in danger of dying—is it right that a doctor should never come a near for three or four days?'
'Oh, John! a great physician like Dr. Bevary!' remonstrated his wife. 'It is so very good of him to come at all. And for nothing, too! He as good as said to Mary he didn't mean to charge.'
'I can pay him; I'm capable of paying him, I hope,' spoke John Baxendale. 'Who said I wanted my wife to be attended out of charity?'
'It's not just that, father, I think,' said Mary. 'He comes more in a friendly way.'
'Friendly or not, it isn't come to the pass yet, that I can't pay a doctor,' said John Baxendale. 'Who has let it go abroad that I couldn't?'
Taking up his hat, he went out on the spur of the moment, and bent his steps to Dr. Bevary's. There he was civil and humble enough, for John Baxendale was courteous by nature. The doctor was at home, and saw him at once.