"What is that, my dear?" asked Mrs. Marvel of her husband, some ten months after their introduction to the reader, as the latter regarded, with no pleasant countenance, a small piece of paper which he held in his hand.
"Why, it's Dr. Elton's bill."
"Indeed! How much is it?"
"One hundred and fifty dollars!"
"Oh, husband!"
"Did you ever hear of such a thing?"
"One hundred and fifty dollars, did you say?"
"Yes, one hundred and fifty dollars. A'n't it outrageous?"
"It's scandalous! It's downright swindling! I'd never pay it in the world! Who ever heard of such a thing! One hundred and fifty dollars for one year's attendance! Good gracious!"—and Mrs. Marvel held up her hands, and lifted her eyes in profound astonishment.
"I can't understand it!" said Mr. Marvel. "Why, nobody's had a spell of sickness in the family for the whole year. Charley's been a little sick once or twice; but nothing of much consequence. There must be something wrong about it. I'll go right off and see him, and have an understanding about it at once."