The MacTavish was not a mean man. No; he just knew the value of money.
So, when the MacTavish developed a sore throat he meditated fearfully
upon the expenditure of a doctor's fee. As an alternative he hung about
for a day and a half outside the local doctor's establishment. Finally
he managed to catch the great man.
"Say, doctor! Hoo's beez-ness wi' ye the noo?"
"Oh, feyr, feyr!"
"A s'pose ye've a deal o' prescribin' tae dae fer coolds an' sair
throats?"
"Ay!"
"An' what dae ye gin'rally gie fer a sair throat?"
"Naethin'," replied the canny old doctor, "I dinna' want a sair throat."
* * *