He spoke this with so easy an assurance that I was at a loss whether he meant it seriously, or was laughing at me.  While I was conning over my reply, the grocer, seizing on the opportunity, said: 

“Gentlemen, I am persuaded of your both being perfectly competent in your art; have the goodness without ado to take the case in hand, and devise some effectual means for the restoration of my son’s health.”

Thereupon the little pulse-counter set himself about reviewing the patient’s situation; and after having dilated to me on all the symptoms, asked me what I thought the fittest method of treatment.

“I am of opinion,” replied I, “that he should be bled once a day, and drink as much warm water as he can swallow.”

At these words, our diminutive doctor said to me, with a malicious simper, “And so you think such a course will save the patient?”

“Not a doubt of it,” exclaimed I in a confident tone; “it must produce that effect, because it is a certain method of cure for all distempers.  Ask Senor Sangrado.”

“At that rate,” retorted he, “Celsus is altogether in the wrong; for he contends that the readiest way to cure a dropsical subject is to let him almost die of hunger and thirst.”

“Oh, as for Celsus,” interrupted I, “he is no oracle of mine; he is as fallible as the meanest of us; I often have occasion to bless myself for going contrary to his dogmas.”

“I discover by your language,” said Cuchillo, “the safe and sure method of practise Dr. Sangrado instils into his pupils!  Bleeding and drenching are the extent of his resources.  No wonder so many worthy people are cut off under his direction!”

“No defamation!” interrupted I, with some acrimony.  “A member of the faculty had better not begin throwing stones.  Come, come, my learned doctor, patients can get to the other world without bleeding and warm water; and I question whether the most deadly of us has ever signed more passports than yourself.  If you have any crow to pluck with Senor Sangrado, publish an attack on him; he will answer you, and we shall soon see who will have the best of the battle.”

“By all the saints in the calendar,” swore he in a transport of passion, “you little know whom you are talking to!  I have a tongue and a fist, my friend; and am not afraid of Sangrado, who with all his arrogance and affectation is but a ninny.”

The size of the little death-dealer made me hold his anger cheap.  I gave him a sharp retort; he sent back as good as I brought, till at last we came to fisticuffs.  We had pulled a few handfuls of hair from each other’s head before the grocer and his kinsman could part us.  When they had brought this about, they feed me for my attendance and retained my antagonist, whom they thought the more skilful of the two.

Another adventure succeeded close on the heels of this.  I went to see a huge singer in a fever.  As soon as he heard me talk of warm water, he showed himself so adverse to this specific as to fall into a fit of swearing.  He abused me in all possible shapes, and threatened to throw me out of the window.  I was in a greater hurry to get out of his house than to get in.