"I heard some people at the hotel talking about you. They said you were the first man in the world for some complaints. And I remembered your name, and—and—I wondered if you were the man. And you are the man."
"This is a very busy morning, madam. If you would kindly come to the point at once. What do you want with me?"
"Doctor, I once had a child—a boy—the finest boy you ever saw."
"It is not unusual," the doctor began, but stopped, because the woman's face was filled with a great trouble. "But pray go on, madam."
"I had a boy," she repeated, and burst into a flood of tears.
The doctor inclined his head. There is no other answer possible when a complete stranger bursts into tears from some unknown cause.
"I lost the boy," she proceeded. "I—I—I lost the boy."
"He died?"
She shook her head. "No. But I lost my boy," she repeated. "My husband deserted me. I was alone in a strange town. My relations had cast me off because I married an actor. I was penniless, and I could find no work. I sold the boy to save him from the workhouse, and to get the money to follow my husband."
"Good Heavens! I remember! It was at Birmingham. Your husband's name was—was——?"