Ben looked
disapproval across the board, and Polly knew that the wrong thing had
been said.
"Oh! I didn't mean--of course you must take care of the sick people,"
she said impulsively.
"Yes, I must," said Dr. Fisher wearily, and pushing up the shock of gray
hair to a stiffer brush over his brow. "That's what I set out to do, I
believe."
"But that's no reason why you should tire yourself to death, and break
down the first year," said Mr. King, eyeing him sharply. "Zounds, man,
that isn't what I brought you up from the country for."
Dr. Fisher looked into his wife's eyes and smiled. "I believe you
brought me," the smile said. But he kept his tongue still.
"And you must get accustomed to seeing suffering that you can't help.
Why, man alive, the town's full of it; you can't expect to stop it
alone."
"I'll do what I can to help," said the little doctor between his teeth,
and taking a long draught of the coffee his wife put by his plate. "I
suppose there's no objection to that. Now, that's good," smacking his
lips in a pleased way.
"Of course not, if you help in the right way," said old Mr. King
stoutly, "but I'll wager anything that you're picking up all sorts of
odd jobs among the poor, that belong to the young doctors.
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