"Ah me," exclaimed a Jew, one day, as he reluctantly drew out his wallet
to pay three dollars for his examination, prescription, and advice, "if I
could only make money like the doctors of mede_cene_! Ah me." Then, taking
two dollars from his purse, he asked, "Won't that do?"
This Jew was a merchant, reputed rich, and penurious as he was wealthy,
and I demanded the accustomed fee.
"Let me see," said he; "how many patients have you seen to-day?"
"Nine," I replied.
"Let me see," counting his fingers as a tally. "At least twenty-seven
dollars a day, and nothing out but a bit of paper. Ah, I wish I had been a
doctor in mede_cene_," he added, with a sigh, and a woful look at the
money, as he reluctantly handed it over.
This was casting pearls before worse than swine, prescribing for such a
wretch. Brains, education, anxiety, all went for nought, with him. _Money_
was his all. A shilling before his eyes would shut out even God's
sunlight. If the shilling only _shone_, _glistened_,--sunlight enough for
such a wretch.
[Illustration: RECKONING A DOCTOR'S FEES.]
"Let _me_ see," I said, after his miserable body had taken his penurious
soul out of my office; "nine patients, one three miles away. Horse-tire
and carriage-wear, time, advice, and medicine given, because the patient
was a widow. No. 2 patient, the sick child of an invalid mother; no fee.
No. 3, an Irishman. The Irish never wish to pay anything; did pay one
dollar. No. 4, a merchant. "Charge it." That was _his_ fee. No. 5, a young
sewing girl, who, in sewing on army cloth, had sewed her life's blood into
the seams. In consumption. Could I take her fee? God forbid. No. 6, a
"lady," who, having so much upon her back, had nothing in her purse. I may
get my fee at the end of the quarter. "You know my husband. Good morning."
It was near two o'clock then. She had occupied my time a whole hour. My
dinner was cold; my wife was out of sorts, waiting so long. Nos. 7 and 8,
two sick children. Visit them daily; pay uncertain. The ninth was the
wealthy Jew. Nine patients; four dollars! Don't I sometimes wish I kept an
"O' clo'" store, like the old Jew? This actually occurred when I practised
medicine in Hartford.
[Illustration: PATIENT NUMBER FIVE.]