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HOW THE DOCTOR LOST HIS BILL.
A Good Story Told About Alexander
Stephens and Bob Toombs.
The following article was given to
one of the LaGrange, Georgia, pa
pers by a citizen who has had it
among his papers for twenty years.
While it is a little hard on “Dr. Roys
ton,” it will no doubt greatly amuse
our readers. The story is as follows:
A doctor named Royston had sued
Peter Bennett for his bill, long over
due, for attending the wife of the
latter. Alexander H. Stephens was
on the Bennett side, and Robert
Toombs, then senator of the United
States, was for Dr. Royston. The
Doctor proved his number of visits,
their value according to local cus
tom, and his own authority to do
medical practice. Mr. Stephens told
his client that the physician had made
out his case, and as there was noth
ing wherewith to rebut or offset the
claim, the only thing left to do was
to pay it.
“No,” said Peter, “I hired you to
speak my case, and now speak.”
Mr. Stephens told him there was
nothing to say; he had looked on to
see that it was made out, and it was.
Peter was obstinate, and at last
Mr. Stephens told him to make a
speech himself, if he thought one
could be made.
“I will,” said Peter Bennett, “If
Bobby Toombs won’t be too hard on
me.”
Senator Toombs promised and Pe
ter began:
“Gentlemen of the jury: You and
I is plain farmers, and if we don’t
stick together these ’ere lawyers and
doctors will git the advantage of us.
I ain’t no lawyer nor doctor, and I
ain’t no objections to them in their
proper place, but they ain’t farmers,
gentlemen of the jury.
“Now, this man ’ Royston was a
new doctor, and I went for him to
come an’ doctor my wife’s sore arm.
And he come an’ put some salve truck
onto it and some rags, but never done
it one bit of good, gentlemen of the
jury. I don’t believe he is no doctor,
no way. There is doctors as is doc
tors, sure enough, but this man don’t
earn his money; and if you send for
him, as Mrs. Sarah Atkinson did, for a
negro boy as was worth SI,OOO, he
just kilt him and wants pay for it.”
“I didn’t,” thundered the doctor.
with the slow accent of a jujdge with
with the slow accent o fa judge with
the black cap on.
The doctor was silent and Peter
proceeded:
“As I was sayin’, gentlemen of the
jury, we farmers, when we sell cot
ton has got to give vally for the mon
ey we ask, and doctors ain’t none too
good to be put to the same rule. And
I don’t believe this Sam Royston is
no doctor, nohow.”
The physician again put in his oar,
with, “Look at my diploma if you
think I am no doctor.”
“His diploma!” exclaimed the new
fledged orator with great contempt.
“His diploma! Gentlemen, that is a
big word for printed sheepskin, and
it don’t make no doctor of the sheep
as first wore it, nor does it of the
man as now carries it. A good news
paper has more in it, and I p’int out
to ye that he ain’t no doctor at all.”
The man of medicine was now in a
fury, and screamed out, “Ask my pa
tients if I am not a doctor!”
“I asked my wife,” retorted Peter,
“and she said as how she thought you
wasn’t.”
“Ask my other patients,” said Dr.
Royston.
This seemed to be the straw that
broke the camel’s back, for Peter re
plied with look and tone of unutter
able sadness:
“That is a hard sayin’, gentlemen
of the jury, and one that requires
me to die, or to have powers as I’ve
hearn tell ceased to be since the Apos
tles. Does he expect me to bring
the Angel Gabriel down before his
time, and cry aloud, ‘Awake ye dead
and tell this court and jury what you
think of Royston’s practice?’ Am I
to go to the lonely churchyard and
rap on the silent tomb, and say to um
as is at least at rest from physic and
doctor bills, ‘Git up here, and state
if you died a natural death, or was
hurried up some by doctors.’ He
says ask his patients, and gentlemen
of the jury, they are all dead! Where
is Mrs. Beazley’s man, Sam? Go
ask the worms in the graveyard
where he lies. Mr. Peak’s woman,
Sarah, was attended by him, and her
funeral was app’inted and he had the
corpse ready. Where is that likely
Bill as belonged to Mr. Mitchell?
Now in glory, an’ expressin’ his opin
ion on Royston’s doctorin’. Where is
that baby gal of Harry Stephens’?
She are where doctors cease from
trublin’, and the infants are at rest.
“Gentlemen of the jury, he has et
chicken enough at my house to pay
for his salve, and I don’t suppose he
charges for makin’ her worse, and
even he don’t pretend to charge for
curin’ of her, and I am humbly
thankful that he never give her noth
in’ for her inwards, as he did his oth
er patients, for somethin’ made um
all die mighty sudden.”
Here the applause made the speak
er sit down in great confusion, and
in spite of a logical restatement by
Senator Toombs, the doctor lost and
Peter Bennett won. —New York World.
HIS TROUBLES.
In a small Georgia town, savs an ex
change, lives an old negro couple, the
support of both being the wife. Uncle
Zeke spends most of his lime fishing in
the brick yard pond, not that he expects
to catch any fish, but “des ter hab some
harmless ’musement, chile.” Aunt Mary
takes in washing.
One day one of Aunt Mary’s patrons
broached the subject to her, and sug
gested that she should not encourage
her husband’s laziness by supporting
him in idleness, but Aunt Mary pro
tested.
“Deed, honey, mah ole man ain’t lazy,”
she declared: “It’s des dem scientific
notion he dun got when he was a wuckin,
at de colled ere.”
“But what have scientific theories got
to do with his not working?” the lady
demanded.
Got er whole lot to do, honey,” Aunt
Mary said, gathering up her basket.
“Yo’ see, dem ideas what he got was
dat hit wasn’t healthy ter uuk after
meals, an’ he ain’t been able ter figger
out no way ter ’complish dat not yet
’less he gibs up eatin’, an’ course he
can’t do dat!’’
The Golden Age for April 11, 1907.
ww y y Docto.s pfeocnoe very liuie, if any, a»co-
ZV /iFOTA hoi these days. They prefer strong tonics
XV Ul CZ CcZ kJIJ and alteratives. This is ail in keeping with
/> y 4 < /A V modern medical science. It explains why
G4L Xl Ayer’s Sarsaparilla is now made entirely
free from alcohol. Ask your doctor.
S We have no secrets! We publish J. C. Ayer Co.,
Z the formul sofa’ lour preparations. Lowell, Mass.
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I *■
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Everybody is interested in the work of Dr. Broughton, pas
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READ HIS BOOKS
And learn the secret of the many things that he does.
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