r, and even then he
had his bad spells of sickness, but still he came regularly, and on
reaching the top of the stairs to my room he would hold on till his
coughing fit was over. "Well, old man, how are you to-day?" After I
had taken a turn for the better and was very susceptible to the smell
of good things cooking downstairs, I asked him when I should be
allowed to have something solid, and added, "Oh, I am so tired of
milk and egg-nog; when may I have a bit of chicken or mutton?"

"Well, how many days is it since your temperature was normal? Well,
in so many days you may have jelly and junket."

"Is that all?" I replied, disappointed.

"Look here, old man, I want to get you well, and you must be
patient."

"That reminds me of a little story," said the doctor. "Some years ago
two men were digging a deep ditch on Johnson Street to repair a
sewer. Some time after both the men were taken sick, which turned out
to be typhoid fever, and, being single men, they were taken to the
hospital. I saw them every day in my regular round of visits, and
they progressed towards recovery until they got to the stage that you
have, and complained of my bill of fare. They asked for 'something
solid,' and I put them off with the same answer you got. A day or two
after in making my regular rounds I noticed that one of my patients
was not in evidence and I asked his friend where he was. Then the
story was told me of his friend having had some visitors, one of whom
brought a cooked chicken, part of which was eaten on the sly and
the balance hidden under the mattress. The result was that he was
then out in the morgue, having died that day, and in due time, to
conclude my little story, his friend, who had no chicken, left the
hospital cured."

"Now," said Dr. Davie, "I'll go; you are in good hands (my wife's);
be patient and ponder on my little story."

It is pretty well known that Dr. Davie had had only one lung for
years past, but that did not prevent him attending to his numerous
patients. The many who to-day are indebted to his skill and kindness
of heart will feel a great sorrow at his passing. Many of his former
patients have told me of his refusal of pay for valuable services
rendered them. At the conclusion of a sickness a patient would likely
say: "Well, doctor, I am grateful for your pulling me through. I
shall have to pay by instalments. Here is something on account."

If the doctor did not know his circumstances he would say