In the meantime Jacomina was busy trying on the veldschoens, which turned out to be by no means badly made. Uncle Diederick continued smoking, calmly and silently.
“Do they fit, my child?” he asked without turning his head.
“Yes, Pa,—they fit well.”
At once Uncle Diederick laid down his pipe and began attending to his patient. He felt her pulse; he thumped, prodded and sounded her until she groaned and grunted. She was a woman who, for nearly thirty years, had eaten and drunk largely, and who never took the least exertion that she could avoid. Her malady, from which she chronically suffered, was simply indigestion in an acute form.
“Here, Aunt,—take half a cupful of this whenever you feel bad.”
He took down from the shelf a large black flask, which had originally contained gin, and handed it to the invalid, who grasped it greedily.
“Uncle,—these veldschoens are a beautiful pair.—This bottle holds so few doses and I get sick very often.”
Uncle Diederick had returned to his seat and his pipe. He took not the slightest notice of what Aunt Emerencia said. She, knowing by experience that there was no chance of screwing another bottle out of the physician, arose with the apparent intention of taking her departure. But first she tried another move.
“Alle Wereld,” she said in anguished tones, putting her hand to her side at the same time—“here is the pain again; can you not give me a dose now, Uncle?”
“Yes, Aunt,—certainly. Jacomina, bring me a corkscrew and a cup.”