"
The Tenor smiled, "I am afraid I am only a Tenor with an abominable cold,"
he rejoined good-naturedly. "I really think I must nurse it a little. When
I have seen the dean, I shall go to bed."
"You'll see the doctor first," she muttered decisively as she took up the
tray and withdrew.
The Tenor overheard her, but was past making any objection. He had managed
to take the tea, and, eased by the grateful warmth, he sank into another
heavy doze from which the arrival of the doctor roused him. It was evening
then.
He made an effort to rise in his courteous way to receive the doctor, was
sorry to trouble him for anything so trifling as a cold, would not have
troubled him in fact had not his officious old housekeeper taken the law
into her hands; but now that he had come was very glad to see him;
singers, as the doctor knew, being fidgety about their throats; and really
--with a smile--even a cold was important when it threatened one's means
of livelihood.
The doctor responded cheerfully to these cheerful platitudes, but he was
listening and observing all the time. Then he took out a stethoscope in
two pieces, and as he screwed them together he asked:
"Been wet lately?"
"Well, yes," the Tenor answered--"something of that kind.
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