The poodle was seized with an infection of the throat, and Whistler had the audacity to send for the great throat specialist Sir Morell Mackenzie. Sir Morell, when he saw that he had been called in to treat a dog, didn't like it much, it was plain. But he said nothing. He prescribed, pocketed a big fee, and drove away.
The next day he sent post-hate for Whistler, and Whistler, thinking he was summoned on some matter connected with his beloved dog, dropped his work and rushed like the wind to Mackenzie's. On his arrival Sir Morell said gravely: "How do you do, Mr. Whistler? I wanted to see you about having my front door painted."
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