"You can form your own opinion on that," said the coachman.

"And," I added, "as to not being told where he lives, I can see that for
myself. I'm not blind, you know."

"We'll take the risk of what you see," the man replied. "The question
is, will you take the job on?"

Yes; that was the question, and I considered it for some time before
replying. We medical men are pretty familiar with the kind of person who
"can't abear doctors," and we like to have as little to do with him as
possible. He is a thankless and unsatisfactory patient. Intercourse with
him is unpleasant, he gives a great deal of trouble and responds badly
to treatment. If this had been my own practice, I should have declined
the case off-hand. But it was not my practice. I was only a deputy. I
could not lightly refuse work which would yield a profit to my
principal, unpleasant though it might be.

As I turned the matter over in my mind, I half unconsciously scrutinized
my visitor--somewhat to his embarrassment--and I liked his appearance
as little as I liked his mission. He kept his station near the door,
where the light was dim--for the illumination was concentrated on the
table and the patient's chair--but I could see that he had a somewhat
sly, unprepossessing face and a greasy, red moustache that seemed out of
character with his rather perfunctory livery; though this was mere
prejudice. He wore a wig, too--not that there was anything discreditable
in that--and the thumb-nail of the hand that held his hat bore
disfiguring traces of some injury--which, again, though unsightly, in no
wise reflected on his moral character. Lastly, he watched me keenly with