But few patients are on his list, and these are first attended to.
The doctor then pauses for consideration. He has set apart this day
for _collecting_. Past experience has taught him that the task is by
no means an agreeable one. It is necessary, however--absolutely
so--for, as we have said before, doctors must live as well as other
people; their house-rent must be paid, food and clothing must be
supplied.
A moment only pauses the doctor, and then we are again moving
onward. A short ride brings us to the door of a pleasantly-situated
house. We remember it well. It is where the little one lay in fits
when we last rode out with the doctor. We recall the scene: the
convulsed countenance of the child; the despair of the parents, and
the happiness which succeeded when their beloved one was restored to
them.
Surely they will now welcome the doctor. Thankfully will they pay
the paltry sum he claims as a recompense for his services. We are
more confident than the doctor. Experience is a sure teacher. The
door does not now fly open at his approach. He gives his name to the
girl who answers the bell, and in due time the lady of the house
appears.
"Ah! doctor, how do you do? You are quite a stranger! Delightful
weather," &c.
The doctor replies politely, and inquires if her husband is in.
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