For his trouble, Saniel took this doctor's place during Sunday in summer, and from time to time received a box of perfumery or quack medicines, which he sold at a low price when occasion offered.
Every week he received the list of cosmetics and specialties that he must make use of in his correspondence, no matter how he recommended them, whether in answer to letters that were really addressed to him, or by inventing questions that gave him the opportunity to introduce them.
He began to consult this list and the pile of letters from subscribers that the magazine had sent him, when the doorbell rang.

Perhaps it was a patient, the good patient whom he had expected for four years.

He left his desk to open the door.
It was his coal man, who came with his bill.
"I will stop some day when I am near you," Saniel said.

"I am in a hurry this evening." "And I am in a hurry, too; I must pay a large bill tomorrow, and I count upon having some money from you." "I have no money here." After a long talk he got rid of the man and returned to his desk.

He had answered but a few of the many letters when his bell rang again.