Band books

If her troubles ever get into her
legs, and I have reason to believe they will, you can afford to hire a
little maid for your cook. Old Daniel Clopsey, her grandfather, died at
ninety-five, and he had then the same doctorable rheumatism that he had
at fifty. I have something to think over, and I will come in again when
she is gone."
"Depart, O mercenary being!" exclaimed the doctor, "before you abase my
thoughts from sulphate of quinia to filthy lucre."
"Lucre is never filthy until you lose it," said the old lady as she went
out on the back piazza, and closed the door behind her.
About twenty minutes later she burst into the doctor's office. "Mercy on
us!" she exclaimed, "are you here yet, Susan Clopsey? I must see you,
doctor; but don't you go, Susan. I won't keep him more than two minutes."
"Oh, don't mind me," cried Miss Clopsey, a parched maiden of twoscore. "I
can wait just as well as not. Where is the pain, Miss Panney? Were you
took sudden?"
"Like the pop of a jackbox. Come, doctor, I must see you in the parlor.


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