Would not be allowed on a whaler.
THE PATIENTS' LIBRARY.
Though a West-End physician of repute, he must, I think, have had a course of American training, if rapidity of action be any indication thereof.
Scarcely had the maid ushered me into his study and I had taken a seat than he came forward brusquely, looked at me with the glowering eye of the Second Murderer, grasped a large piece of me in the region of the fourth rib and barked, "You're too fat."
Having been carefully bred I refrained from retaliation. I did not tell him that his legs were out of drawing and that he had a frightfully vicious nose. But before I had time to explain my business he had started on a series of explosive directions: "Eat proper food. Plenty of open air. Exercise morning, noon and night and in between. Use the Muldow system. You need a tonic."
He turned to his table and was, I suppose, about to draw a cheque for me on the local chemist's when I decided to say my little piece.
"Excuse me, Sir," said I mildly, "I am not a patient."
The combination fountain-pen and thermometer almost fell from his hand.
"I am," said I, "the sole proprietor and sole representative of the Physicians' Supply Association. I gave your maid my card. I have called with a thrilling offer of magazines for your waiting-room."