“I should rather think it was no diet, doctor.  Well, I do declare, I’ll tie up Jane for three weeks, and see if nothing but water will cure her complaints.  Well, Mr. Jack, why don’t you take the tobacco to Ben?”

“Oh! he’s in at supper now; there’s no hurry,” replied I; “and I like to hear you talk.”

“Well, there’ll be less scandal in your remaining to hear us than there would be if we sent you away, anyhow.  How’s little Miss Virginia, sister to Poor Jack.”

“She’s quite well, and wants to come and see you, only mother won’t let her.”

“Many thanks to your sister for her compliment; and not forgetting your mother for hers, also.  So your mother has given up ’making lay on reasonable terms’?”

“’Cause people wouldn’t come.”

“And that is a sufficient reason, even if she had not another; which is, that she’s never out of hot water without boiling more.  Doctor, you’re as mute as a fish.  You told me how to cure Jane and the dogs, now tell me what’s the dose for a cat and a kitten?”

“A ha’p’orth of liver, cut into small pieces.”

“There’ll be no difficulty in getting that down their throats, anyhow.”

“Talking about liver, Mrs. St. Felix, I once knew a friend of mine who cured some geese of a liver complaint.”

“Had they been long in the East Indies, poor creatures?”

“No, but they had been in a very hot climate.  You see, he was over in France during the last peace, and he went to the baths at Montpellier for the benefit of his health.  He lodged with an old Frenchman.  Now, you see, Mrs. St. Felix, in the south of France they have a custom of making certain pies, which are much esteemed, and are called pates de foie gras—­that means livers of geese, in French.”

“It don’t sound much like livers in English, doctor; but never mind that, go on with your story.”

“Here’s a customer, Mrs. St. Felix; serve him first, and then I will go on with my story.”

An old pensioner came in, and laying the coppers on the counter, asked for a ha’p’orth of returns and a farthing of snuff.

“That’s a large ready money order, doctor,” said the widow, as the man left the shop.  “Ain’t I making my fortune?  Now go on; I’m as eager about the liver as my own cat.”

“Well, the great object is to increase the size of the geese’s livers, that is, to bring on a regular liver complaint; and, to effect this, they put the poor animals in a hot closet next the kitchen fire, cram the food into their mouths through a funnel, and give them plenty of water to drink.  This produces the disease; and the livers of the geese, when they are killed, very often weigh three or four pounds, while the animals themselves are mere skeletons.”

“And the French eat those liver complaints?” interrupted the widow, making a face.