After this greeting, explanations follow. The first man has to prove his right to be at Royat, and the second man has to admit the evidence to be incontestable, on the condition, implied but not expressed, of his own case being taken as thoroughly warranting his taking the baths and traitement generally at Royat.
Then comes the question of Doctors. "Who shall decide when Doctors disagree?"—but who shall decide when patients disagree about Doctors? "Whom do you go to?" asks the suffering Smith of the invalid Brown. "Well," says Brown, apologetically,—because he is not sure, this being his first visit, that he might not have gone to a better man, "I go to Dr. Chose," and noticing the astonishment depicted on his friend's face, he hastens to explain, "Squills sent me to him." The suffering Smith professes himself puzzled to know why on earth Squills always sends his patients to Chose. "Dr. Rem's the man for you, my boy," says Smith. But Brown feels that he is in the toils of Squills, and that it would not be fair to him or to Chose, if he suddenly left the latter and sought the advice of Dr. Rem, on the sole recommendation of Smith who, after all, is not a professional.
Then two habitués meet. "I always go to Chose," says eczematic Jones, dogmatically, "first-rate fellow, Chose. All the French go to him. They know." "Ah!" returns gouty Robinson, with conviction, "I never have been to anyone but Rem. He's the chap. All the English go to him. Best man in Royat." And if it weren't the hour for one of them to go and drink Eugénie water, and for the other to take his second glass of St. Mart, they would have a row and come to blows.
Puller tells me that there's one London Doctor, describing himself as a Gynæcologist ("A guinea-cologist," parenthetically remarks Puller), who always sends his patients here. I think he says his name is Dr. Barnes. "He sends so many," says Puller, "that I propose changing the name of the place from Royat-les-Bains into Royat-les-Barnes." I see why he introduced the name of Barnes. Fortunately he is so delighted with this jeu de mot, which I fancy I've heard before, that he is off to tell his friends in the Parc, and, as I pass a group, I overhear him explaining the point of it to a French lady and her husband, with whom he has a speaking acquaintance. For Puller likes what he calls "airing his French," and is not a bit shy.
The Band is performing another new tune! How is this? I can account for it. It rained nearly all yesterday, and so the musicians didn't come out. How did they occupy themselves? In rehearsal. Well here's one good effect of rain at Royat, it brings out the new tunes.