After Mrs. Tromp had recovered from her desire to call her husband aside and make unheard but vigorous observations, and after the oldest Tromp boy had learned that “it wasn’t nice for a little gentleman to kick his wee guests that came from so far, far away,” they were all very happy. Mrs. Coughlin and Mrs. Tromp bewailed the cost of laundry soap and butter, and exchanged recipes for pickled peaches, while the men, sitting on the edge of the porch, their knees crossed, eloquently waving their cigars, gave themselves up to the ecstasy of shop-talk:
“Say, Doctor, how do you find collections?”
(It was Coughlin speaking—or it might have been Tromp.)
“Well, they’re pretty good. These Germans pay up first rate. Never send ’em a bill, but when they’ve harvested they come in and say, ‘How much do I owe you, Doctor?’”
“Yuh, the Germans are pretty good pay.”
“Yump, they certainly are. Not many dead-beats among the Germans.”
“Yes, that’s a fact. Say, tell me, Doctor, what do you do with your jaundice cases?”
“Well, I’ll tell you, Doctor: if it’s a persistent case I usually give ammonium chlorid.”
“Do you? I’ve been giving ammonium chlorid but here the other day I see a communication in the Journal of the A.M.A. where a fellow was claiming it wasn’t any good.”
“Is that a fact! Well, well! I didn’t see that. Hum. Well. Say, Doctor, do you find you can do much with asthma?”