The dyspepsia--I clung to this hypothesis--was growing so violent that I had difficulty in breathing: before long I found it impossible to stand.
My hostess was summoned, and she told me that Cotrone had "a great physician," by name "Dr.Scurco." Translating this name from dialect into Italian, I presumed that the physician's real name was Sculco, and this proved to be the case.

Dr.Riccardo Sculco was a youngish man, with an open, friendly countenance.

At once I liked him.

After an examination, of which I quite understood the result, he remarked in his amiable, airy manner that I had "a touch of rheumatism"; as a simple matter of precaution, I had better go to bed for the rest of the day, and, just for the form of the thing, he would send some medicine.
Having listened to this with as pleasant a smile as I could command, I caught the Doctor's eye, and asked quietly, "Is there much congestion ?" His manner at once changed; he became businesslike and confidential.
The right lung; yes, the right lung.

Mustn't worry; get to bed and take my quinine in _dosi forti_, and he would look in again at night.
The second visit I but dimly recollect.