Lydgate smiled as he ended his speech, putting his foot into the stirrup, and Mr. Mawmsey laughed more than he would have done if he had known who the king’s lieges were, giving his “Good morning, sir, good-morning, sir,” with the air of one who saw everything clearly enough.  But in truth his views were perturbed.  For years he had been paying bills with strictly made items, so that for every half-crown and eighteen-pence he was certain something measurable had been delivered.  He had done this with satisfaction, including it among his responsibilities as a husband and father, and regarding a longer bill than usual as a dignity worth mentioning.  Moreover, in addition to the massive benefit of the drugs to “self and family,” he had enjoyed the pleasure of forming an acute judgment as to their immediate effects, so as to give an intelligent statement for the guidance of Mr. Gambit—­ a practitioner just a little lower in status than Wrench or Toller, and especially esteemed as an accoucheur, of whose ability Mr. Mawmsey had the poorest opinion on all other points, but in doctoring, he was wont to say in an undertone, he placed Gambit above any of them.

Here were deeper reasons than the superficial talk of a new man, which appeared still flimsier in the drawing-room over the shop, when they were recited to Mrs. Mawmsey, a woman accustomed to be made much of as a fertile mother,—­generally under attendance more or less frequent from Mr. Gambit, and occasionally having attacks which required Dr. Minchin.

“Does this Mr. Lydgate mean to say there is no use in taking medicine?” said Mrs. Mawmsey, who was slightly given to drawling.  “I should like him to tell me how I could bear up at Fair time, if I didn’t take strengthening medicine for a month beforehand.  Think of what I have to provide for calling customers, my dear!”—­here Mrs. Mawmsey turned to an intimate female friend who sat by—­“a large veal pie—­ a stuffed fillet—­a round of beef—­ham, tongue, et cetera, et cetera!  But what keeps me up best is the pink mixture, not the brown.  I wonder, Mr. Mawmsey, with your experience, you could have patience to listen.  I should have told him at once that I knew a little better than that.”

“No, no, no,” said Mr. Mawmsey; “I was not going to tell him my opinion.  Hear everything and judge for yourself is my motto.  But he didn’t know who he was talking to.  I was not to be turned on his finger.  People often pretend to tell me things, when they might as well say, `Mawmsey, you’re a fool.’  But I smile at it:  I humor everybody’s weak place.  If physic had done harm to self and family, I should have found it out by this time.”

The next day Mr. Gambit was told that Lydgate went about saying physic was of no use.

“Indeed!” said he, lifting his eyebrows with cautious surprise.  (He was a stout husky man with a large ring on his fourth finger.) “How will he cure his patients, then?”