"Well," she said doubtfully, "Baby's just arf to sleep."
And this is all that I shall ever remember about the road from Beer to Sidmouth.
I am finding it harder than ever this year to get a summer holiday. And while these little glimpses of the country merely sharpen my desire for more, I find myself telling myself sternly that I must really learn to be contented with them. And at any rate I have been enabled to see more of the hospital than for some time past; and, as you know, this is to be my last year there as a visiting physician.
This afternoon, my junior being salmon-fishing in Norway, I thought that I would take the out-patients for the first time in twelve years; and the clinical assistant proving not unwilling to go and play tennis, I amused myself with seeing the lot of them. For there's no other commentary upon men and manners quite like a collection of out-patients at a large hospital. Listen therefore to a stalwart gentleman who earns twenty shillings a week, and doesn't stint himself in beer.
"Debility, doctor," he said, "that's what's the metter with me." He dropped his voice huskily. "Domestic trouble," he added.
"Dear me," I sympathised, feeling his pulse. "Serious?"
"Twins," he said gloomily; "second lot I've 'ed in eighteen months; an' I think it's run me down."
Your aff. brother,
Peter.