"I must see my patient," said the Doctor, cheerfully. "Will he come if I
whistle?"
Miss Peters was disinclined to accede to this demand. She was beginning
to grow fearful that Jack would see through her little subterfuge, and
that the efforts of the S.F.M.E. would prove fruitless.
"Oh," she demurred, "is that--er--necessary? Rover isn't a child, you
know. He won't stick out his tongue if you tell him to--and, er--I don't
think you could tell much from his pulse--and--"
"I'd better see him, though," observed Jack, quietly. "I certainly can't
prescribe unless I do."
So Rover was brought out, and it was indeed true that his old-time
activity had been superseded by a lethargy which made the wagging of
his tail a positive effort. Still, Doctor Barkis was equal to the
occasion, prescribed for the dog, and on his books that night wrote down
a modest item as against Mr. Billington Peters and to his own financial
credit. Furthermore, he had promised to call again the next day, which
meant more practice.
On his return home he found a hurry call awaiting him. Miss Betsy
Barbett had dislocated her wrist. So to the Barbett mansion sped Doctor
Barkis, and there, sure enough, was Miss Barbett apparently suffering
greatly.
"Oh, I am so glad you have come," she moaned. "It hurts dreadfully,
Jack--I mean Doctor."
"I'll fix that in a second," said he, and he did, although he thought it
odd that there were no signs of any inflammation.
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