"Then you'll please tidy my hair, and have the curtains drawn back from the windows so that the sun can shine in the room," she ordered, sweetly.
"An' I'll put some fresh flowers on yer table," Nancy agreed.
The specialist came in the afternoon. He was a portly man, with iron-grey hair, clean-shaven face and a habit of emphasizing his remarks by beating time to them with his spectacles. He examined the patient thoroughly, whilst Dr. Dodona stood by deferentially, though impatiently, awaiting his opinion. Then they adjourned to another apartment, and the great man carefully diagnosed the case to his confrère. "She has been very ill," he admitted, summing up the loose ends of his notations, "but I see no necessity for a change in your remedies.
"Do you not see a recent improvement?" he asked, shortly.
Dr. Dodona shrugged his shoulders. "Since last night, yes."
"Continue as you have been doing. I will give you a few written suggestions as to diet and tonic," the specialist explained, and then he dropped his professional air and slapped his fellow-practitioner familiarly on the shoulder.
"You were afraid because you have lost your heart as well as your nerve. Is that a correct diagnosis?" he asked jovially.
"Evidently you have diagnosed symptoms in the wrong party," Dr. Dodona answered, drily.
"You had better settle it while I am here," advised the city medical man, who showed much aptitude for other things than cases of perverse illness.
"By Jove, I will!" the doctor burst out, and in he went with a rash disregard of the noise he was making. He did not heed the warning "Sh-h!" of the widow McVeigh, so engrossed was he in his mission.