“Decidedly,” confirmed the doctor. “She spent on patent medicines about forty dollars. The cancer quack would have got at least a hundred dollars out of her, not counting her railroad fare. Two hundred dollars would be a fair estimate of her little health-excursion among the quacks. Any good physician would have sent her to an oculist, who would have fitted proper glasses and saved all that expense and drugging. The entire bill for doctor, oculist, and glasses might have been twenty-five dollars. Yet they defend patent medicines on the ground that they’re the ‘poor man’s doctor.”
Mr. Gormley rose. “Poor man’s undertaker, rather,” he amended. “Well, having sufficiently blackguarded my own business, I think I’ll go. Here’s the whole thing summed up, as I see it. It pays to go to the doctor first and the druggist afterward; not to the druggist first and the doctor afterward.”
Dr. Strong walked over to the gate with him. On his return Mrs. Clyde remarked:
“What an interesting, thoughtful man. Are most druggists like that?”
“They’re not all philosophers of the trade, like Gormley,” said Dr. Strong, “but they have to be pretty intelligent before they can pass the Pharmaceutical Board in this state, and put out their colored lights.”
“I’ve often meant to ask what the green and red lights in front of a drug-store stand for,” said Mrs. Clyde. “What is their derivation?”
“Green is the official color of medical science,” explained the doctor. “The green flag, you know, indicates the hospital corps in war-time; and the degree of M.D. is signalized by a green hood in academic functions.”
“And the red globe on the other side of the store: what does that mean?”
“Danger,” replied Dr. Strong grimly.