"I want the doctor," added Medfield warily.
"I'll send for him--soon as you get in," she said placidly. "You come
right along."
"No." He put his hands on the arms of the chair and looked at her like a
spoiled child.
Aunt Jane regarded him calmly. She went into the corridor and sent word
for Miss Canfield to come to her office. Then she went on to the office
and took up the receiver and called Dr. Carmon's number; and stood
waiting, with bent head, her cap strings reflective.
The head lifted itself--and her face focussed to the little black cup on
the desk before her.
"It's about Mr. Medfield--Herman G. Medfield--yes." She said it severely
into the blackness. "He won't do as he's told!"
Her ear listened. "Well, that's all right. But you'll have to come....
No, I don't know. He's cross--for one thing!... In half an hour, you
say?... Well, that will do, I guess--I can handle him that long." She
smiled and hung up the receiver and turned to Miss Canfield and looked
at her through her glasses.
"What is the matter with him?" she asked.
The nurse shook her head. "He was all right until half an hour ago. I
took him his medicine then," she replied.
"It's the widow!" said Aunt Jane.