"That's so, I guess. But I guess there won't be any trouble about Mrs.
Temple's vote when she sees Denbigh. His specialty is the capture of
sensible women. They all swear by him. You met him, didn't you, at my
office, the other day?"

"Oh yes, and I liked him so much that I wished I was sick on the spot!"

"That's good!" my neighbor said, joyfully.

"Well, you could meet the doctor there almost any afternoon of the
week, toward closing-up hours, and almost any evening at our house
here, when he isn't off on duty. It's a generally understood thing that
if he isn't at home, or making a professional visit, he's at one place
or the other. The farmers round stop for him with their buggies, when
they're in a hurry, and half our calls over the 'phone are for Dr.
Denbigh. The fact is he likes to talk, and if there's any sort of man
that _I_ like to talk with better than another, it's a doctor. I never
knew one yet that didn't say something worth while within five minutes'
time. Then, you know that you can be free with them, be yourself, and
that's always worth while, whether you're worth while yourself or not.
You can say just what you think about anybody or anything, and you know
it won't go farther. You may not be a patient, but they've always got
their Hippocratic oath with them, and they're safe. That so?"

My neighbor wished the pleasure of my explicit assent; my tacit assent
he must have read in my smile. "Yes," I said, "and they're always so
tolerant and compassionate. I don't want to say anything against the
reverend clergy; they're oftener saints upon earth than we allow; but a
doctor is more solid comfort; he seems to understand you exponentially."