Doctor Hotchkiss, with the offshoot of white whiskers from each jowl,
and who was fond of pinching her cheek as she lay under his touch,
moistened his fingers and counted.
"The charges are fifty dollars," he said.
She was immediately startled.
"Why, Doctor Hotchkiss, you said twenty-five!"
"Fifty, with the bridgework, my dear young woman," he said, the words
swimming in the oil of his suavity.
"You said twenty-five."
"You misunderstood, my dear young woman. Twenty-five would not pay for
the amount of gold I used. Fifty is what I said. Fifty dollars," his
voice rising.
She looked her despair.
"I--It's not honorable. I asked you distinctly. What if I haven't it to
spare--"
"That is not my business," he replied, his entire manner roughening up.
"You have forty dollars' worth of my gold in your mouth and the law
provides for receiving goods you can't pay for. You've got it, all
right, and if you haven't, from the look of you, there is some one
behind you who has."
She colored so furiously that her eyes smarted to tears as she reached
down into her blouse for the little chamois bag.
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