"The mayor's color and pulse was fine. I gave him another treatment,
and he said the last of the pain left him.

"'Now,' says I, 'you'd better stay in bed for a day or two, and you'll
be all right. It's a good thing I happened to be in Fisher Hill, Mr.
Mayor,' says I, 'for all the remedies in the cornucopia that the
regular schools of medicine use couldn't have saved you. And now
that error has flew and pain proved a perjurer, let's allude to a
cheerfuller subject--say the fee of $250. No checks, please, I hate
to write my name on the back of a check almost as bad as I do on the
front.'

"'I've got the cash here,' says the mayor, pulling a pocket book from
under his pillow.

"He counts out five fifty-dollar notes and holds 'em in his hand.

"'Bring the receipt,' he says to Biddle.

"I signed the receipt and the mayor handed me the money. I put it in
my inside pocket careful.

"'Now do your duty, officer,' says the mayor, grinning much unlike a
sick man.

"Mr. Biddle lays his hand on my arm.

"'You're under arrest, Dr. Waugh-hoo, alias Peters,' says he, 'for
practising medicine without authority under the State law.'