"Oh,
yes, here's paper and a pencil," as the Doctor fumbled in a pocket.
The Doctor took the sheet of paper she proffered and, using the side
of his bag as a pad, began to write out the prescription.
"I don't generally advise these drugs," he said, looking up for a
moment. "Still--"
He paused. "What time is it?"
Miss Cornelia glanced at the clock. "Half-past eleven."
"Then I'd better bring you the powders myself," decided the Doctor.
"The pharmacy closes at eleven. I shall have to make them up myself."
"That seems a lot of trouble."
"Nothing is any trouble if I can be helpful," he assured her,
smilingly. And Miss Cornelia also smiled, took the piece of paper
from his hand, glanced at it once, as if out of idle curiosity about
the unfinished prescription, and then laid it down on the table with
a careless little gesture. Dale gave her aunt a glance of dumb
entreaty. Miss Cornelia read her wish for another moment alone with
the Doctor.
"Dale will let you out, Doctor," said she, giving the girl the key
to the front door,
The Doctor approved her watchfulness.
"That's right," he said smilingly. "Keep things locked up.
Discretion is the better part of valor!"
But Miss Cornelia failed to agree with him.
"I've been discreet for sixty-five years," she said with a sniff,
"and sometimes I think it was a mistake!"
The Doctor laughed easily and followed Dale out of the room, with a
nod of farewell to the others in passing.
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