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Updated: May 19, 2025
Mother was upstairs with the fretful baby of the family, and there was nobody to run to. Behind the close-shut surgery-door a strange scene was going on. Sitting well back in his consulting-chair, his hands spread out, finger to finger, thumb to thumb, Doctor George was gazing sternly in silence at an eager little speaker. "Oh, do come; do, Uncle George!
"Come in here with me." "It's not my turn," objected Patty. "That makes no difference," returned the doctor. Patty dropped limply into the consulting-chair. "Let me see your tongue. Um-m isn't coated very much. Your pulse seems regular, though possibly a trifle feverish. Have you been working hard?" "I don't think I've been working any harder than usual," said Patty, truthfully.
As Saxham waited, leaning forward in his consulting-chair, to receive the would-be patient's confidence, you can imagine those blue eyes of his, once so hard and keen, looking out of their hollowing caves with a sorrowful, clear sympathy that was very different from their old regard. To his women-patients he was exquisitely considerate. Only to one class of patient was he merciless and unsparing.
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