The Disagreeable Woman

"No, I have only white linen handkerchiefs."

"I haf never use any but red ones, but I might come in and see what you have."

"I shall be glad to show you what I have, Professor."

Prof. Poppendorf was soon engaged in the discussion of dinner. He had a good German appetite which never failed. He seldom talked much during a meal, as it would interfere with more important business.

Now that I had changed my place at the table, I sat on one side of the Disagreeable Woman, and Ruth Canby on the other. Next to Ruth sat the Professor, but for the reason already stated, he was not a social companion.

Just opposite sat Mrs. Wyman and Count Penelli. So far as I could judge, he was a quiet young man, and had very little to say for himself. Mrs. Wyman, however, kept plying him with questions and remarks, and did her best to appear on terms of intimate acquaintance with him. Some fragments of her conversation floated across the table.

"You have no idea, Count, how I long to visit Italy, your dear country."

"It is ver' nice," he said, vaguely.

"Nice? It must be lovely. Have you ever seen the Bay of Naples?"

"Oh, si, signora, many times."

"It is charming, is it not?"

"Si, signora, it is beautiful."

"And the Italian ladies, I have heard so much of them."

"I like ze American ladies better."

"Do you, indeed, Count? How gratifying! When do you expect to return to Italy?"

"I do not know—some time."

"I hope it will not be for a long time. We should miss you so much."

"The signora is very kind."

This will do for a sample of the conversation between the Count and the widow. Though several years his senior, it looked as if she was bent on making a conquest of the young nobleman.

CHAPTER VIII.

THE PROFESSOR IN LOVE

I was sitting in my office one morning waiting for patients, much of my time was passed in this way, very often I waited in vain. The modest sign which I was allowed to put on the outside of the house,

Dr. James Fenwick

didn't seem to attract attention. Of the little practise I had, at least a third was gratuitous. Yet I was expected to pay my bills, and when my little stock of money was exhausted there seemed a doubt as to whether the bills would be paid at all.

One day I was summoned to a house where a child of three was struggling with croup. It was a serious case, and I gave up my time to the case. After several hours I succeeded in bringing the child round and pronouncing her out of danger.

When I sent in my bill, the mother said:

"Dr. Fenwick, Mary is but three years old."

"Indeed!" I returned.

I failed to understand why I should be informed of this fact.

"And," continued the mother, "I don't think any charge ought to be made for a child so young."

I was fairly struck dumb with amazement at first.

Then I said, "The age of the patient has nothing to do with a physician's charges. Where did you get such an extraordinary idea?"

"I don't have to pay for her on the horse-cars."

"Madam," I said, provoked, "I will not argue with you. You ought to know that no physician treats children free. If you were very poor, and lived in a tenement house, I might make some discount, or leave off the charge altogether."

"But I don't live in a tenement house," objected the lady, angrily.

"No; you have the appearance of being very well to do. I must distinctly decline abating my charge."

"Then, Dr. Fenwick," said the mother, stiffly, "I shall not employ you again."

"That is as you please, madam."

This seemed to me exceptionally mean, but doctors see a good deal of the mean side of human nature. Rich men with large incomes keep them out of their pay for a long time, sometimes where their lives depended on the physician's skill and fidelity. Oftentimes I have been so disgusted with the meanness of my patients, that I have regretted not choosing a different profession. Of course there is a different side to the picture, and gratitude and appreciation are to be found, as well as the opposite qualities.

I had been waiting a long time without a patient, when a shuffling sound was heard on the stairs, and a heavy step approaching the door.

Next came a knock.

Instead of calling out, "Come in!" I was so pleased at the prospect of a patient, that I rose from my seat and opened the door, myself.

I started back in surprise. For in the heavy, lumbering figure of the new arrival I recognized Prof. Poppendorf.

"Prof. Poppendorf!" I exclaimed.

"Ja, doctor, it is I. May I come in?"

"Certainly."

Supposing that he had come to consult me on the subject of his health, I began to wonder from what disease he was suffering. Remembering his achievements at the table I fancied it might be dyspepsia.

The Professor entered the room, and sank into an armchair, which he quite filled from side to side.

"I suppose you are surprised to see me, Herr Doctor," began the Professor.

"Oh, no. I am never surprised to see anybody. I had not supposed you were sick."