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And there was my sister Molly's old man, Phelim, that was took bad wid the fever and he drank walth of whiskey, but it never did him a bit of good but when he lift off the whiskey, and drank nothin' but wather, he came round in a wake. O, dochthor, let me have the blissid water." "You must see your landlord about that." "You wouldn't sind me to him, dochthor."
The other day, a poorly but decently-dressed Irish woman entered the office of the commissioners on Washington Street, and walked up to the head clerk. "Well, my good woman, what do you want?" "I want to see the dochthor." "The doctor! what doctor?" "How should I know his name, and me niver seeing him?" "This is the water commissioner's office, my good woman."
Stop it, dochthor! I've had enough! It's too good for the likes of me. I fale betther, dochthor; I won't throuble ye more, dochthor; many thanks to ye, dochthor! do ye hear? It's drowning I am!" By this time she had risen, and was standing ankle deep in water.
Dochthor, dear, couldn't ye have let me had it a thrifle warmer?" The water continued to pour in, and she was thoroughly soaked. Under the belief that the doctor must be somewhere about, superintending the operation, but keeping himself out of sight from motives of delicacy, she continued to address him. "There! dochthor, dear. Blessings on ye! That'll do for this time. It's could I am!
The clerk took it. It was a dispensary ticket. He explained the mistake, and told the applicant where she should go to obtain medicine and advice. "No, dochthor, dear it's no mistake it's the water cure I'm after. Sure it's the blissid wather that saves us.
O, I'm bad, dochthor, dear; if you think the water'll cure me, tell me where I can get it." "You've got the pipes down your way?" "I've got the pipes, dochthor, dear but sorrow a bit of tibaccy. Do you think smoking is good for the rheumatiz?" "There's some mistake here," said the clerk; "what's that you've got in your hand?" "They tould me to bring this bit ov pasteboord here, sure."
"Sorrow a dochthor I go to but the water dochthor, this blissid day," said the woman, and she left the office. She repaired to her cellar in no enviable frame of mind. She was sick and discouraged, and labored under the impression that she had been to the right place, but they had imposed upon her, from an unwillingness to aid her.
I used to take boarders; but it's poorly I am, and I can't work as I used to, dochthor." "Well, haven't you got any water?" "Divil a bit. I have to take my pail and go to Bread Strate for it." "And the water doesn't come into your cellar?" "Sure it comes into me cellar sometimes but it's as salt as brine; it's the say water. I've tried to drink it, but it made me sick.
As the element was still rising, and the "dochthor" failed to make his appearance, the poor woman climbed upon a stool, which was soon insulated by the tide. From this she managed to escape in a large bread trough, and ferried herself over to a shelf, where she lay in comparative safety, watching the rising of the waters.
In the mean while, however, during her absence, a service pipe had been admitted into her premises by the landlord, though she was not aware of the fact. She became acquainted with it soon enough, however. The next morning, about four o'clock, as she lay on the floor, bemoaning her hard fate and the neglect of the "dochthor," she heard a rushing noise.
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