"D'you think it means anything?" she asked.
"Any cough means something. I couldn't tell without examination."
"How much?" inquired the cautious Mayme.
The Little Red Doctor is a willing liar in a good cause. "No charge for
first consultation. Come over to my office."
When the test was finished, the Little Red Doctor looked professionally
non-committal. "Live with your parents?" he asked.
"No. With my aunt. 'Round in the Avenue."
"Where do you work?"
"The Emporium," answered the girl, naming the great and still
fashionable downtown department store, half a mile to the westward.
"You ought to quit. As soon as possible."
"And spoil my delicate digestion?"
"Who said anything about your digestion?"
"I did. If I quit workin', I quit eatin'. And that's bad for me. I tried
it once."
"I see," said the Little Red Doctor, recognizing a condition by no means
unprecedented in local practice. "Couldn't you get a job in some
better climate?"
"Where, for instance?"
"Well, if you knew any one in California."
"How's the walkin'?" asked Mayme.
"It's long," replied the Little Red Doctor, "seeing" again. "Anyway,
you've got to have fresh air."
"They serve it fresh, every morning, right here in Our Square," Mayme
pointed out.
"Good idea. Get up early and fill your lungs full of it for an hour
every day.
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