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The late "lan Maclaren" (Dr. John Watson) once told this story on
himself to some friends:

"I was coming over on the steamer to America, when one day I went into
the library to do some literary work. I was very busy and looked so, I
suppose. I had no sooner started to write than a diffident-looking young
man plumped into the chair opposite me, began twirling his cap and
stared at me. I let him sit there. An hour or more passed, and he was
still there, returning my occasional and discouraging glances at him
with a foolish, ingratiating smile. I was inclined to be annoyed. I had
a suspicion that he was a reader of my books, perhaps an admirer--or an
autograph-hunter. He could wait. But at last he rose, and still twirling
his cap, he spoke:

"'Excuse me, Doctor Watson; I'm getting deathly sick in here and I'm
real sorry to disturb you, but I thought you'd like to know that just as
soon as you left her Mrs. Watson fell down the companionway stairs, and
I guess she hurt herself pretty badly.'"





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