I had been
thrilling to have one. Now that he had come I felt for
an instant as if I would not open the door. But of
course that was only a momentary weakness. I answered
his ring with, I fear, rather a hypocritical air of
insouciance, as though I had happened to find myself in
the hall, and did not care to trouble the maid to ascend
the stairs.
"Dr. Stark Munro?" he asked.
"Pray step in," I answered, and waved him into the
consulting-room. He was a pompous, heavy-stepping,
thick-voiced sort of person, but to me he was an angel
from on high. I was nervous, and at the same time so
afraid that he should detect my nervousness and lose
confidence in me, that I found myself drifting into an
extravagant geniality. He seated himself at my
invitation and gave a husky cough.
"Ah," said I--I always prided myself on being quick
at diagnosis--"bronchial, I perceive. These summer colds
are a little trying."
"Yes," said he. "I've had it some time."
With a little care and treatment----"I suggested.
He did not seem sanguine, but groaned and shook his
head. "It's not about that I've come," said he.
"No?" My heart turned to lead.
"No, doctor." He took out a bulging notebook. "It's
about a small sum that's due on the meter."
You'll laugh, Bertie, but it was no laughing matter
to me. He wanted eight and sixpence on account of
something that the last tenant either had or had not
done.
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