“It would be difficult to say what he has not taken,” remarked Leonard.  “His stomach must be like an apothecary’s shop.”

“I have only used proper precautions,” rejoined Blaize, testily.

“And what may those be—­eh?” inquired the doctor.  “I am curious to learn.”

“Come from behind Patience,” cried Leonard, “and don’t act the fool longer, or I will see whether your disorder will not yield to a sound application of the cudgel.”

“Don’t rate him thus, good Master Leonard,” interposed Patience.  “He is very ill—­he is, indeed.”

“Then let him have a chance of getting better,” returned the apprentice.  “If he is ill, he has no business near you.  Come from behind her, Blaize, I say.  Now speak,” he added, as the porter crept tremblingly forth, “and let us hear what nostrums you have swallowed.  I know you have dosed yourself with pills, electuaries, balsams, tinctures, conserves, spirits, elixirs, decoctions, and every other remedy, real or imaginary.  What else have you done?”

“What Dr. Hodges, I am sure, will approve,” replied Blaize, confidently.  “I have rubbed myself with vinegar, oil of sulphur, extract of tar, and spirit of turpentine.”

“What next?” demanded Hodges.

“I placed saltpetre, brimstone, amber, and juniper upon a chafing-dish to fumigate my room,” replied Blaize; “but the vapour was so overpowering, I could not bear it.”

“I should be surprised if you could,” replied the doctor.  “Indeed, it is astonishing to me, if you have taken half the remedies Leonard says you have, and which, taken in this way, are no remedies at all, since they counteract each other—­that you are still alive.  But let us see what is the matter with you.  What ails you particularly?”

“Nothing,” replied Blaize, trembling; “I am quite well.”

“He complains of a fixed pain near de haard, docdor,” interposed his mother, “and says he has a large dumour on his side.  But he wond let me examine id.”

“That’s a bad sign,” observed Hodges, shaking his head.  “I am afraid it’s not all fancy, as I at first supposed.  Have you felt sick of late, young man?”

“Not of late,” replied Blaize, becoming as white as ashes; “but I do now.”

“Another bad symptom,” rejoined the doctor.  “Take off your doublet and open your shirt.”

“Do as the doctor bids you,” said Leonard, seeing that Blaize hesitated, “or I apply the cudgel.”

“Ah! bless my life! what’s this?” cried Hodges, running his hand down the left side of the porter, and meeting with a large lump.  “Can it be a carbuncle?”

“Yes, it’s a terrible carbuncle,” replied Blaize; “but don’t cauterize it, doctor.”

“Let me look at it,” cried Hodges, “and I shall then know how to proceed.”

And as he spoke, he tore open the porter’s shirt, and a silver ball, about as large as a pigeon’s egg, fell to the ground.  Leonard picked it up, and found it so hot that he could scarcely hold it.