"Then there was Aunt Maria who was staying with us and imagined she had appendicitis, poor old thing! You remember the specialist, Jack?"
"I remember the specialist's fee—three guineas for absolute tomfoolery! 'Item 2. To diagnosing Aunt Maria and failing to find anything wrong and recommending appendicitis.... ' Shall we say a guinea for Aunt Maria's put-up job? I ought to get my money back since nothing was found in Aunt Maria. There should be at least a discount on false alarms."
"Then there was Baby," continued Minerva. "We didn't know what was wrong with him—and really I don't think now there was very much the matter, although I felt so anxious at the time. But the doctor never would explain fully."
"Of course not; that would be giving the game away. 'Item 3. To baby to rights, 2s. 11d.'"
"Two-and-elevenpence for baby!" protested Minerva. "If Aunt Maria was worth a guinea—"
"She was not. I said so at the time."
"—Baby is certainly worth more than two-and-elevenpence."
"Well, make it two pounds eleven. I don't care either way. What I want is an approximate idea of the way this fellow makes up his total."
"If he's charging two pounds eleven for all the little he did to Baby, he's certainly charging too much, Jack; and you ought to see him about it at once."