Dr. Bryant
especially hated reporters. He wras built that way; he disliked
notoriety for himself and his friends, and therefore, when one of
these complained of a neighbor's parrot to the Health Department,
he gave strict orders that the story was to be guarded from the
reporters, and particularly from me, who had grieved him more than
once by publishing things which, in his opinion, I ought to have
said nothing about. I heard of it within the hour, and promptly
set my wit against the Doctor's to unearth the parrot.
[Illustration: Our Office--my Partner Mr. Ensign at the Desk I in
the Corner]
But it would not come out. Dig as I might, I could not get at it. I
tried every way, while the Doctor laughed in his sleeve and beamed
upon me. At last, in desperation, I hit upon a bold plan. I would
get it out of the Doctor himself. I knew his hours for coming to
Sanitary Headquarters--from his clinics, I suppose. He always came
up the stairs absorbed in thought, noticing nothing that passed.
I waylaid him in the turn of the dark hall, and before he had time
to think plumped at him an--
"Oh, Doctor! about that parrot of your friend--er--er, oh! what
was his name?"
"Alley," said the Doctor, mechanically, and went in, only half
hearing what I said.
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