“Between us Grandma and I ought to be able to answer any questions,” said Mr. Clyde.
“About sickness, then, in the family. I’ve already introduced myself to Mrs. Clyde and questioned her; but her information isn’t definite.”
“Myra seldom is,” observed Mr. Clyde. “It’s part of her charm. But Grandma Sharpless has been keeping a daybook for years. Everything that’s ever happened, from the cat’s fits to the dressmaker’s misfits, is in that series. I’ve always thought it might come in handy sometime.”
“Just the thing!” said Dr. Strong heartily. “Will you bring it, Mrs. Sharpless? I hope you’ve included your comment on events as well as the events themselves.”
“My opinions are generally pronounced enough so that I can remember ‘em, young man,” returned Mrs. Sharpless, as she departed for the desired volumes.
“That last remark of yours sounded a little like making fun of Grandma,” suggested Mr. Clyde, as the door closed after her.
“Far from it,” retorted Dr. Strong quickly. “Can’t you see that she’s a born diagnostician? She’s got the sixth sense sticking out all over her. Women more often have it than men. When a doctor has it, and sometimes when he’s only able to counterfeit it, he becomes great and famous.”
“Now that you speak of it, I remember my wife’s saying that when she was a girl and lived in the country, her mother was always being sent for in cases of illness.”
Dr. Strong nodded. “Heretical though it is to say so, I would rather have the diagnosis of such a woman, in an obscure case, than of many a doctor. She learns in the school of experience.”
Here, Mrs. Sharpless returned, carrying several diaries.