“Always wanting me,” groans Heale, hugging his glass, “driving me about like any negro slave.  Tell him to come in.”

“Here, Doctor,” says the Lieutenant, “I want you to prescribe for me, if you’ll do it gratis, d’ye see.  Take some brandy and water.”

“Good advice costs nothing,” says Tom, filling; “Mr. Heale, read that letter.”

And the Lieutenant details his ailments, and their supposed cause, till Heale has the pleasure of hearing Tom answer—­

“Fiddlesticks!  That’s not what’s the matter with you.  I’ll cure you for half-a-crown, and toss you up double or quits.

“Oh!” groans Heale, as he spells away over the letter,—­

“Lord Minchampstead having been informed by Mr. Armsworth that Mr. Thurnall is now in the neighbourhood of his estates of Pentremochyn, would feel obliged to him at his earliest convenience to examine into the sanitary state of the cottages thereon, which are said to be much haunted by typhus and other epidemics, and to send him a detailed report, indicating what he thinks necessary for making them thoroughly healthy.  Mr. Thurnall will be so good as to make his own charge.”

“Well, Mr. Thurnall, you ought to turn a good penny by this,” said Heale, half envious of Tom’s connection, half contemptuous at his supposed indifference to gain.

“I’ll charge what it’s worth,” said Tom.  “Meanwhile, I hope you’re going to see Miss Beer to-night.”

“Couldn’t you just go yourself, my dear sir?  It is so late.”

“No; I never go near young women.  I told you so at first, and I stick to my rule.  You’d better go, sir, on my word, or if she’s dead before morning, don’t say it’s my fault.”

“Did you ever hear a poor old man so tyrannised over?” said Heale, as Tom coolly went into the passage, brought in the old man’s great coat and hat, arrayed him and marched him out, civilly, but firmly.

“Now, Lieutenant, I’ve half an hour to spare; let’s have a jolly chat about the West Indies.”

And Tom began with anecdote and joke, and the old seaman laughed till he cried, and went to bed vowing that there never was such a pleasant fellow on earth, and he ought to be physician to Queen Victoria.

Up at five the next morning, the indefatigable Tom had all his work done by ten; and was preparing to start for Pentremochyn, ere Heale was out of bed, when a customer came in who kept him half an hour.

He was a tall broad-shouldered young man, with a red face, protruding bull’s eyes, and a moustachio.  He was dressed in a complete suit of pink and white plaid, cut jauntily enough.  A bright blue cap, a thick gold watch-chain, three or four large rings, a dog-whistle from his button-hole, a fancy cane in his hand, and a little Oxford meerschaum in his mouth, completed his equipment.  He lounged in, with an air of careless superiority, while Tom, who was behind the counter, cutting up his day’s provision of honey-dew, eyed him curiously.