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"Well,
what is the matter now?" inquired Sampson rather roughly. "Be seated,
Mrs. Maxley," said Mrs. Dodd, benignly.
"I thank ye kindly, ma'am;" and she sat down. "Doctor, it is that pain."
"Well, don't say 'that pain.' Describe it. Now listen all of ye; ye're
goen to get a clinical lecture."
"If _you_ please, ma'am," said the patient, "it takes me here under my
left breest, and runs right to my elbow, it do; and bitter bad 'tis while
it do last; chokes me mostly; and I feel as I must die: and if I was to
move hand or fut, I think I _should_ die, that I do."
"Poor woman!" said Mrs. Dodd.
"Oh, she isn't dead yet," cried Sampson cheerfully. "She'll sell addled
eggs over all our tombstones; that is to say, if she minds what I bid
her. When was your last spasm?"
"No longer agone that yestereen, ma'am; and so I said to my master, 'The
doctor he is due to-morrow, Sally up at Albion tells me; and----'"
"Whist! whist! who cares what you said to Jack, and Jill said to you?
What was the cause?"
"The cause! What, of my pain? He says, 'What was the cause?'"
"Ay, the cause.


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