Esther Lockwin has been confined to her room for a month by Dr.
Tarpion's orders. The servants say she will not enter a carriage again.

David Lockwin has hired an extra clerk, and is daily under a surgeon's
hands. After six months of suffering he is promised a removal of the
red fimbrications; his nose shall be re-erected; his throat shall be
reasonably cleared.

He lies on his cot, and Corkey is a frequent visitor.

"You wa'n't no prize beauty, that's a fact," says the candid Corkey.
"I think you're wise, but I'd never a did it. You've got as much grit
as a tattooed man. Them fellers, the doctors, picks you with electric
needles, don't they? Yes, I thought so. Well, I suppose that's
nothing side of setting up your nose. But she sets up there like a
hired man--you've got a good nob now! Yes, I'm deep in politics again.
I'm a fool--I know it, but I don't spend more'n five hundred cases, and
I go to the legislature sure. If I get there some of these
corporations that knocked me out afore will squeal--you hear me! No,
you don't spend no money on me. I wish you could git out and hustle,
though. But you ain't no hustler, nohow. Want any drug laws passed?"

Corkey must do the greater part of the talking. He sits beside the bed
carrying an atmosphere of sympathy that the feverish lover needs.
Gradually the thoughts of the sympathizer fix on the glass graduate.
It tickles his membranes. His head quakes, his tongue whirs, he jars
the great bottles outside with his sneeze.

The tears start from his eyes, his throat rebels at its misusage, his