"One night last autumn there came a ring at the bell, and I let in a man
with a slouch hat pulled over his eyes and the collar of his coat turned
up. He was soaking wet, the water oozing from his shoes and slopping the
oilcloth in the hall where he stood. I had never seen him before.
"'Doc,' he said, 'I want you.' They all call me 'Doc' around
here--especially this kind of a man--and I saw right away where
he belonged.
"'What for?'
"'My pal's sick.'
"'What's the matter with him?'
"'Well, he's sick--took bad. He'll die if he don't git help.'
"'Where is he?'
"'Down in Washington Street.'
"'Queer,' I said to myself, 'his wanting me to go two miles from here,
when there are plenty of doctors nearer by,' and so I said to him:
"'You can get a doctor nearer than me. I'm waiting for a woman case and
may be sent for any minute. Try the Dispensary on Canal Street; they've
always a doctor there.'
"'No--we don't want no Dispensary sharp. We want you. Pal's sent me for
you--he knows you, but you mightn't remember him.
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