Sally did not smile. "Her headaches. They are getting worse."
"Pouf!" said the professor, with a wave of his hand. "Everybody has headaches. What's a headache?"
"I don't know," Sally replied, "and she doesn't and I think she ought to."
"The definition," remarked the professor coldly, "is to be found in the dictionary, I have no doubt. You might look it up and tell her."
"And so I think," Sally continued, as if he had not spoken, "that mother ought to see a doctor; a doctor that knows about headaches."
"Oh," said the professor, more coldly than before. "So you would like to have a specialist called in; a specialist in headaches."
"I don't know whether that's what you call them," Sally returned bravely. "If it is, then I would."
Her father had turned toward her, but he did not look at her. "Most interesting!" He got a cigarette from the drawer and proceeded to beat out some of the tobacco. "Doctor—er—what's-his-name, from the village, wouldn't do, then?"
"No, he wouldn't." There was just a suspicion of a quiver in Sally's voice. "He doesn't know enough."
"Indeed! You have not communicated your opinion of his knowledge, or his lack of it, to him, I take it?"