An Unsentimental Physician.
correspondent of the Boston Traveller relates the following:
A story is told upon Rayer, the eminent physician here.
He was called in, six weeks ago, to attend a sick child.
The child — it was the only child of wealthy parents — recovered its health.
A few days after Rayer had discontinued his visits, the mother of the little in valid called on the Doctor
She said: ‘"My dear Doctor
, there are services rendered in this world, which money cannot pay. I know not how we could adequately reward you for your kindness and attentions and skill to poor Earnest.
And I have thought that, perhaps, you would be good enough to accept this little porte-monnaie
--mere trifle — but which 1 embroidered."’-- "Porte-monnaie!" roughly replied the Doctor
. "Medicine, Madame
, is not a sentimental profession.
When we are called in to visit sick people, we want their fees and not their gratitude.
Gratitude — Humbug!
I'd like to see gratitude make the pot boil; and I have not only to make my pot boil, but I have got a horse to feed, Madame
, and a driver to pay, Madame
, and daughters to portion, Madame
— and gratitude won't aid me to do any of these things.
Money is what is required — money, Madame
— yes, money." The lady was, as you may well imagine, confounded by this burst of indignant talents, and she could only stammer: "But — Doctor
— what is your fee?" "My fee is two thousand francs — and I tell you, Madame
, there is no use screaming about it, I will not take one son less." The lady did not scream.
She quietly opened the porte-monnaie
"I embroidered," unrolled the five bank notes in it, gave two to the Doctor
, placed the other three in the porte-monnaie
, and the latter in her pocket and bowed profoundly, "Good morning, Doctor
," and made her exit.