By which term Heale indicated the, to him, astounding fact, that Tom charged the patients as little, instead of as much as possible, and applying to medicine the principles of an enlightened political economy, tried to increase the demand by cheapening the supply.

“Which is revolutionary doctrine, sir,” said Heale to Lieutenant Jones, over the brandy-and-water, “and just like what the Cobden and Bright lot used to talk, and have been the ruin of British agriculture, though don’t say I said so, because of my Lord Minchampstead.  But, conceive my feelings, sir, as the father of a family, who have my bread to earn, this very morning.—­In comes old Dame Penaluna (which is good pay I know, and has two hundred and more out on a merchant brig) for something; and what was my feelings, sir, to hear this young party deliver himself—­’Well, ma’am,’ says he, as I am a living man, ’I can cure you, if you like, with a dozen bottles of lotion, at eighteenpence a-piece; but if you’ll take my advice, you’ll buy two pennyworth of alum down street, do what I tell you with it, and cure yourself.’  It’s robbery, sir, I say, all these out-of-the-way cheap dodges, which arn’t in the pharmacopoeia, half of them; it’s unprofessional, sir—­quackery.”

“Tell you what, Doctor, robbery or none, I’ll go to him to-morrow, d’ye see, if I live as long, for this old ailment of mine.  I never told you of it, old pill and potion, for fear of a swinging bill:  but just grinned and bore it, d’ye see.”

“There it is again,” cries Heale in despair.  “He’ll ruin me.”

“No, he won’t, and you know it.”

“What d’ye think he served me last week?  A young chap comes in, consumptive, he said, and I dare say he’s right—­he is uncommonly ’cute about what he calls diagnosis.  Says he, ’You ought to try Carrageen moss.  It’s an old drug, but it’s a good one.’  There was a drawer full of it to his hand; had been lying there any time this ten years:  I go to open it; but what was my feelings when he goes on, as cool as a cucumber—­’And there’s bushels of it here,’ says he, ’on every rock; so if you’ll come down with me at low tide this afternoon, I’ll show you the trade, and tell you how to boil it.’  I thought I should have knocked him down.”

“But you didn’t,” said Jones, laughing in every muscle of his body.  “Tell you what, Doctor, you’ve got a treasure; he’s just getting back your custom, d’ye see, and when he’s done that, he’ll lay on the bills sharp enough.  Why, I hear he’s up at Mrs. Vavasour’s every day.”

“And not ten shillings’ worth of medicine sent up to the house any week.”

“He charges for his visits, I suppose.”

“Not he!  If you’ll believe me, when I asked him if he wasn’t going to, he says, says he, that Mrs. Vavasour’s company was quite payment enough for him.”

“Shows his good taste.  Why, what now, Mary?” as the maid opens the door.

“Mr. Thurnall wants Mr. Heale.”