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A Poor Wise Man (Chapter 7)
"I wish you'd stop whistling that thing," said Miss Boyd, irritably. "It makes me low in my mind."
"Sorry," said Willy Cameron. "I do it because I'm low in my mind."
"What are you low about?" Miss Boyd had turned toward the rear of the counter, where a mirror was pasted to a card above a box of chewing gum, and was carefully adjusting her hair net. "Lady friend turned you down?"
Willy Cameron glanced at her.
"I'm low because I haven't got a lady friend, Miss Boyd." He held up a sheet of prescription paper and squinted at it. "Also because the medical profession writes with its feet, apparently. I've done everything to this but dip it in acid. I've had it pinned to the wall, and tried glancing at it as I went past. Sometimes you can surprise them that way. But it does no good. I'm going to take it home and dream on it, like bride's cake."
"They're awful, aren't they?"
"When I get into the Legislature," said Willy Cameron, "I'm going to have a bill passed compelling doctors to use typewriters. Take this now. Read upside down, its horse liniment. Read right side up, it's poison. And it's for internal use."
"What d'you mean you haven't got a lady friend?"