And Miss Peters went on to say that her cherished Rover, she thought, had malaria.  He was tired and lazy, when usually he rivalled the cow that jumped over the moon in activity.  She neglected to say that she had with her own fair hands given the poor beast a dose of sulphonal the night before—­not enough to hurt him, but sufficient to make him appear tired and sleepy.

“I must see my patient,” said the Doctor, cheerfully.  “Will he come if I whistle?”

Miss Peters was disinclined to accede to this demand.  She was beginning to grow fearful that Jack would see through her little subterfuge, and that the efforts of the S.F.M.E. would prove fruitless.

“Oh,” she demurred, “is that—­er—­necessary?  Rover isn’t a child, you know.  He won’t stick out his tongue if you tell him to—­and, er—­I don’t think you could tell much from his pulse—­and—­”

“I’d better see him, though,” observed Jack, quietly.  “I certainly can’t prescribe unless I do.”

So Rover was brought out, and it was indeed true that his old-time activity had been superseded by a lethargy which made the wagging of his tail a positive effort.  Still, Doctor Barkis was equal to the occasion, prescribed for the dog, and on his books that night wrote down a modest item as against Mr. Billington Peters and to his own financial credit.  Furthermore, he had promised to call again the next day, which meant more practice.

On his return home he found a hurry call awaiting him.  Miss Betsy Barbett had dislocated her wrist.  So to the Barbett mansion sped Doctor Barkis, and there, sure enough, was Miss Barbett apparently suffering greatly.

“Oh, I am so glad you have come,” she moaned.  “It hurts dreadfully, Jack—­I mean Doctor.”

“I’ll fix that in a second,” said he, and he did, although he thought it odd that there were no signs of any inflammation.  He was not aware that one of the most cherished and fascinating accomplishments of Miss Barbett during her childhood had been her ability to throw her wrist out of joint.  She could throw any of her joints out of place, but she properly chose her wrist upon this occasion as being the better joint to intrust to a young physician.  If Jack had known that until his coming her wrist had been all right, and that it had not become disjointed until he rang the front door bell of the Barbett house, he might not have been so pleased as he entered the item against Judge Barbett in his book, nor would he have wondered at the lack of inflammation.

So it went.  The Hicks’s cook was suddenly taken ill—­Mollie Hicks gave her a dollar to do it—­and Jack was summoned.  The Tarletons’ coachman was kept out on a wet night for two hours by Janette Tarleton, and very properly contracted a cold, for which the young woman made herself responsible, and Doctor Barkis was called in.  Then the society itself discovered many a case among the worthy poor needing immediate medical treatment from Barkis, M.D., and, although Jack wished to make no charge, insisted that he should, and threatened to employ some one else if he didn’t.