Doctor Gregg, the quarantine physician, was a man of fifty or sixty,
with a florid face and the longest beard between Topeka and Terra
del Fuego. He held his position by virtue of an appointment by
the Board of Health of a seaport city in one of the Southern states.
That city feared the ancient enemy of every Southern seaport--the
yellow fever--and it was the duty of Doctor Gregg to examine crew and
passengers of every vessel leaving Coralio for preliminary symptoms.
The duties were light, and the salary, for one who lived in Coralio,
ample. Surplus time there was in plenty; and the good doctor added
to his gains by a large private practice among the residents of the
coast. The fact that he did not know ten words of Spanish was no
obstacle; a pulse could be felt and a fee collected without one being
a linguist. Add to the description the facts that the doctor had
a story to tell concerning the operation of trepanning which no
listener had ever allowed him to conclude, and that he believed
in brandy as a prophylactic; and the special points of interest
possessed by Doctor Gregg will have become exhausted.

The doctor had dragged a chair to the sidewalk. He was coatless,
and he leaned back against the wall and smoked, while he stroked his
beard. Surprise came into his pale blue eyes when he caught sight
of Smith in his unusual and prismatic clothes.

"You're Doctor Gregg--is that right?" said Smith, feeling the dog's
head pin in his tie. "The constable--I mean the consul, told me
you hung out at this caravansary. My name's Smith; and I came in a
yacht. Taking a cruise around, looking at the monkeys and pineapple-
trees. Come inside and have a drink, Doc. This cafe looks on the
blink, but I guess it can set out something wet."