MEDALLION'S WHIM
WHEN the Avocat began to lose his health and spirits, and there crept through his shrewd gravity and kindliness a petulance and dejection, Medallion was the only person who had an inspiriting effect upon him. The Little Chemist had decided that the change in him was due to bad circulation and failing powers: which was only partially true.
Medallion made a deeper guess. "Want to know what’s the matter with him?" he said. "Ha, I’ll tell you: Woman."
"Woman! God bless me!" said the Little Chemist, in a frightened way.
"Woman, little man; I mean the want of a woman," said Medallion.
The Curé, who was present, shrugged his shoulders. "He has an excellent cook, and his bed and jackets are well aired; I see them constantly at the windows."
A laugh gurgled in Medallion’s throat. He loved these innocent folk; but himself went twice a year to Quebec City and had more expanded views.
"Woman, Padre"—nodding to the priest, and rubbing his chin so that it rasped like sand-paper—"woman! my druggist"—throwing a sly look at the Chemist—"woman, neither as cook nor bottle-washer, is what he needs. Every man—out of holy orders"—this in deference to his good friend the Curé—"arrives
