Towards the end of the week he finished his afternoon round by going to see an old Irishwoman, who had been in the hospital for an operation, and had since been dismissed as incurable. She was a plucky old soul, and a cheerful, but to-day David found her in a downcast mood.
“Sure, it’s not the pain I’d be minding if I could get my sleep,” she said. “Couldn’t ye be after putting the least taste of something in my medicine, then, Doctor, dear?”
David had his finger on her pulse. He patted her hand kindly as he laid it down.
“Come, now, Mrs. Halloran,” he said, “when I gave you that last bottle of medicine you said it made you sleep beautifully.”
“Just for a bit it did,” said Judy Halloran. “Sure, it was only for a bit, and now it’s the devil’s own nights I’m having. Couldn’t you be making it the least taste stronger, then?”
She looked at David rather piteously.
“Well, we must see,” he said. “You finish that bottle, and then I’ll see what I can do for you.”
Mrs. Halloran closed her eyes for a minute. Then she opened them rather suddenly, shot a quick look at David, and said with an eager note in her voice:
“They do be saying that Miss Chantrey can make anny one sleep. There was a friend of mine was after telling me about it. It was her daughter that had the sleep gone from her, and after Miss Chantrey came to see her, it was the fine nights she was having, and it’s the strong woman she is now, entirely.”
David got up rather abruptly.