Donald Wittaker was a distinguished fellow, an older man who flashed a genuine smile as he tipped his bowler hat to the man with the American accent. He had a deep baritone and a gruff set of whiskers. He didn't have a chance to introduce himself before the lad took himself into another room and seemed to be ushering a confused young lady as he was talking fast about her being pregnant, which only confused her more. The poor dear had the eyes as wide as saucers by the time she was facing him. He had never seen the tides shift as fast as he was watching now. He saw the young miss look up at her lover in dismay, disbelief, and betrayal.

While he, himself, could not help but to smile at the pair as she stared at the man who called him there. "Hello there. I am Doc Witaker. There's no need to be worried, I promise you're in good hands. Now, how about you come over and have a seat," he watched the girl hesitate, but he waited patiently and was rewarded by her acquiescence. "That's it, just put your feet up and rest yourself." Once she was settled on the settee, he looked over to Sam and said, "Now, I'm old but I am not deaf. I heard what you said. So let's just cut right to the chase and talk about that. But first, would you be so kind as to give me your names please? I'd like to know who I am talking to."