As the next anecdote has had to do service for more than one physician, it
is immaterial which doctor it was. He was an irascible old fellow, at
least, and not at all careful in leaving orders.
"Your husband is very sick, woman," said the doctor to the wife of an
Irish laborer. "His fever is high, and skin as dry as a fish, or a parish
contribution box. You must give him plenty of cold water, all he will
drink, and to-night I'll see him again. There, don't come snivelling
around me. My heart is steeled against that sort of thing. But, as you
want something to cry for, just hear me. Your husband isn't going to die!
There, now, I know you are disappointed, but you brought it on to
yourself." Going away--"Mind, lots of water--"
"Wather, sir! Hoo much wather, docther dear? He shall have it, but, yer
honor didn't tell me hoo much wather I must give him."
"Zounds, woman, haven't I told you to give him all he will take? Hoo much?
Give him a couple of buckets full, if he will swallow them. Do you hear
now? Two buckets full."
"The Lord bless yer honor," cried the woman; and the doctor made his
escape.
At evening the doctor stopped, on his return, to ask after the patient.
"How is he, woman?" asked the doctor.
"O, he's been tuck away, save yer honor," cried the widow. "The wather did
him no good, only we couldn't get down the right quantity. We did our
best, doctor dear, and got down him better nor a pailful and a half, when
he slipped away from us. Ah, if we could oonly ha' got him to swaller the
other half pailful, he might not have died, yer honor."