"You come to this country to spend
money," he tells me, "but I--to make it."
The profession is not all plain sailing, however, for the French
authorities raise every kind of obstacle in his path; they tear his red
advertisements down from the street walls and openly call him a quack.
Were it not for the Greek Consul in Tunis, who happens to be an old friend
of his, who knows how much longer they would allow him to practise in the
land!
I sometimes go to watch his operations, which, so far as I can judge, are
fairly remunerative, thanks to Achmet the interpreter, one of whose many
duties it is to inform himself confidentially of the financial status of
prospective patients. For the richest sheikh will don tattered clothes
when he visits the surgery, and would doubtless be taken for some poor
labourer were it not for Achmet, who sees through the disguise and gives a
discreet sign to AEsculapius, whose services, of course, must be prepaid;
it is _money down_ before he will prescribe or give away a drop of
medicine.
I was much interested in one of his methods as exemplified on the person
of a native youth who was led in the other day.
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