"Not so remunerative, but more exciting," returned Jim. "The other day," he added, "I was attending a woman, when her husband came up with a crowbar and told me to stand aside, as he wanted to 'finish' her."
"What did you do?"
"Asked him to wait till I'd done with her. He said he would if I'd have a drink, so we had some gin together, and then he lay down in a corner, saying he'd finish her after he'd had a nap. The lady told me not to worry, as he'd be as gentle as a lamb when he'd slept his drink off. She understood him, you see."
"She'd a fine nerve," commented Koko.
"Another time," continued Jim, "I was called to see an old chap who lived by himself in a garret. He'd got D.T.s very hot indeed, and was sitting up in bed with the counterpane covered with sovereigns and bank-notes. There must have been hundreds of pounds there. Miser, I suppose. When I arrived he was holding conversations with imaginary relatives who were evidently (in his opinion) after his cash. He was threatening one with a revolver, and calling him all sorts of purple names. It was the revolver business which made the other people in the house send for me. To oblige him, I threw his imaginary relatives out of the window, and told him they'd fallen on their heads in the court below. That pleased him, and he said he would like to reward me for my trouble. I thought he was going to press a tenner on me, but instead he asked me if I could change half-a-sovereign. I said I could, and he then gave me half-a-crown."
Koko chuckled joyously. "And after that?"
"Then a few dozen more imaginary relatives came in, and I threw them all out of the window. After a bit of a struggle with himself he gave me another shilling for doing this, and then I sent him to a hospital, money and all, and there he croaked, and now they can't find a single real relative to take over his property."
Jim discoursed for some time about his experiences, but at length Koko had to hasten away to fulfil an engagement, and so Jim locked up his surgery and bent his steps homewards.
Trudging down Blackfriars Road, he found a barrel-organ playing at the point where a by-street branched off in the direction of Derby Crescent. Jim loved a barrel-organ, and stopped to listen to this one. The organ-grinder had chosen a good pitch, in the glare of a great electric lamp-post. There was a small crowd of wayfarers watching a number of little girls dancing in front of the organ. Jim watched them too, and was delighted with the performance, for the little maids danced with thorough enjoyment and kept perfect time. One or two couples of grown-up girls were waltzing to the music--although the organ wasn't playing a waltz--but Jim was not interested in these.
Jim had visited many a music-hall in the company of Koko, the red-haired student at Matt's, and others, and had frequently watched the skilful gyrations of trained ballet-dancers, but it seemed to him that this queer little dance, with the heavens for a roof and a muddy wood-block road for a floor, was a much better dance than any he had seen in a music-hall. The organ played a merry tune--full of straightforward melody--and Jim was quite infected with it. He began to wonder when he had last danced--when he would dance again. And meanwhile he watched the little maids, and smiled at the earnest way in which they tripped in and out among each other, quite in the proper style and order; and he gave a shilling to the Italian woman who came round to collect.