He did, too. About the second day after he'd gone back to his son-in-law's place, he sends for me to come over. I finds him walkin' around the grounds as spry as a two-year-old.
"Well," says I, "how did the folks take it?"
He chuckles. "They don't know what to say," says he. "They can't see how a specialist who charges five hundred dollars for an hour's visit can be wrong; but they admit I'm as good as new."
"How's Babbitt?" says I.
"That's why I wanted you to come over," says he. "Now watch." Then he lets out a roar you could have heard ten blocks away, and in about two shakes old wash-day shows up. "Ha! You shark-nosed sculpin!" yells the Commodore. "Where's your confounded tea cart? Go get it, sir."
"Yes, sir; directly, sir," says Babbitt.
He comes trottin' back with it in a hurry.
"Got any of that blasted decayed milk in it?" says the Commodore.
"No, sir," says Babbitt.
"Are you glad or sorry? Speak up, now," says the Commodore.