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Updated: June 8, 2025
The surgeon comes quickly, although Lockwin has gone half-way to meet him. The two men arrive. Dr. Floddin continues to throw his hands up and down. He loved Davy. Perhaps Dr. Floddin is a brave man to stay now. Perhaps he would be brave to go. "Well, Mr. Surgeon, look at that child." "Your boy is dying," says the surgeon, as the men retire to a back room.
She too is terrified by the ordeal through which the child is passing. "Go to the head-quarters, David," she says. "You are needed. Pa says so. I will stay all day," "Oh, Mother Wandrell, what do you think?" "Here is your Dr. Floddin, ask him." The doctor speaks sadly. "He is much worse. What has happened?" "The fires went out," answers Lockwin. "Get some flaxseed at once. Get a stove in here.
Chalmers, I should like to entertain you on your recovery. How singular! This is our old family drug store! Didn't Dr. Floddin keep here? Poor Dr. Floddin! Oh! David! David! Good-bye, Mr. Chalmers." "He's not badly hurt at all," says Corkey, "you mustn't worry over that." "I'm so glad, Mr. Corkey." It is the autumn of a great misery. The woman is righting herself.
He has just dreamed how he treated 150 people to cigars and drinks on the day Dr. Floddin brought Davy through. He has been walking with Davy among the animals in Lincoln Park. "There's Santa Claus' horses," said Davy, of the elks. There is a loud noise in the room. "What on earth is it?" he asks. He is only partly awake. "It is poor little Davy," Esther answers. "Oh, David!" The woman is sobbing.
"Oh, Davy, you'll kill us!" laments the housekeeper, for the little orguinette is stridulent and loud. "He'll kill himself," says the cook. "He's not strong enough to grind that hand-organ. He eats nothing at all, at all." "Papa isn't here any more, but I take my medicine," the child says. The drug is weakening his stomach. "It is the only way," says Dr. Floddin, "to relieve his lungs."
Because his new mother listened so intently, he found less time to write his articles, and no time at all out-doors. "Don't let him study if you can help it," said Dr. Floddin. The child stood at his favorite place in the window, waiting for old Richard Tarbelle to come home. "'Bon-Ton Grocery, mamma; what is 'Bon-Ton?" "That is the name of the grocery." "Yes, I see that.
Tarpion absent? What a good fortune, however, that Dr. Floddin can be given charge. And if the disease be diphtheria, whisky will alleviate and possibly cure the patient. It is a hobby with Lockwin. Dr. Floddin has come rather oddly by this practice. Who he is, no other regular doctor knows. But Dr. Floddin has an honest face, and keeps a little drug store on State street below Eighteenth.
Don't take them away, pet. See, you breathe easily now." "Thank God!" says the man "that we are all doctors." The afternoon wanes. "Georgie Day, mamma." "Yes, lamby." "I want him to have my sleeve-buttons. He can play base-ball, not two-old-cat. He can play real base-ball." "Yes, Georgie shall come to see you to-morrow." Lockwin goes to the speaking tube. "Go and get Dr. Floddin at once.
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