Another fine old New England family, the Cottons.

Intermarriage linked the two, and the Cotton-Petticoats crowded all
other ancient and honorable names off the map of Connecticut and nodded
condescendingly to the Saltonwells and Hallistalls. Abbotts and Cabots
tried to patronize them, but the plain unruffled Cotton-Petticoats held
their peace and their position.

The present scion, Dr. Petticoat, was called Big Bill, not because of his
name or stature, but because of the size of his bills. He presented them
quarterly, and though his medicine was optional--the patient could take
it or leave it--the bills had to be paid.

Wherefore Dr. Petticoat was at the head of his profession financially. Also
by reputation and achievement, for he had the big idea.

He was a specialist, and, better yet, a specialist in Ptomaine Poisoning.

Rigidly did he adhere to his chosen line, never swerving to right or left.
People might die on one side of him from water on the brain and on the
other side from water on the palate, not a prescription could they get out
of Big Bill Petticoat unless they could put up unmistakable symptoms of
ptomaine poisoning.

And he was famous. People brought their ptomaines to him from the far
places, his patients included the idlest rich, the bloatedest aristocrats,
the most profitable of the profiteers. His Big Bill system worked well, and
he was rich beyond the most Freudian dreams of avarice.