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Passing this repository of the associated products about ten o'clock in
the morning, I perceived in the shadow of the cavern no less a person
than Miss Oman. She saw me at the same moment, and beckoned peremptorily
with a hand that held a large Spanish onion. I approached with a
deferential smile.
"What a magnificent onion, Miss Oman! and how generous of you to offer
it to me--"
"I wasn't offering it to you. But there! Isn't it just like a man--"
"Isn't what just like a man?" I interrupted. "If you mean the onion--"
"I don't!" she snapped; "and I wish you wouldn't talk such a parcel of
nonsense. A grown man and a member of a serious profession, too! You
ought to know better."
"I suppose I ought," I said reflectively. And she continued:
"I called in at the surgery just now."
"To see me?"
"What else should I come for? Do you suppose that I called to consult
the bottle-boy?"
"Certainly not, Miss Oman. So you find the lady doctor no use, after
all?"
Miss Oman gnashed her teeth at me (and very fine teeth they were, too).


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