"Take over what?"
"Why, dammit, man," began the visitor, but his flush of anger suddenly died down. A look of bewilderment took its place. "Will ye pardon me, Doctorrr," said the visitor slowly, in a voice which sounded husky. "But tell me am Oi roight in assuming that I was privileged to meet ye hearrr lost noight?"
The doctor shook his head.
"Then," cried the visitor, moved this time by an evidently powerful emotion, "then tell me, man, for God's sake, tell me, is this not the practus I bought from ye last noight?"
"You certainly haven't bought this practice," responded Dr. Brink. "It isn't for sale."
"Begad," mused the visitor, slowly rubbing his chin, "begad, Oi might have known as much. It is a fine place ye have hearrr. Ye wouldn't be for sellin' ut. Not be any means. 'Tis a fine place and a fine practus. Indeed you would be foolish to part with ut, Doctorrr. At any rate, for the sum Oi paid ye yesterday. But, begad, Oi never paid ut ye. Indeed I didn't. Was I so drunk then? Oi doubt ut.
"Hearrr am Oi, an honest, Christian man, a professor of the healun art, the noblest art which—— Begad, Oi know Oi paid ut ye. And be jabers, hearrr's—hearrr's the front-door key—yure front-door key—his, Oi should say, Doctorrr, which he gave me when Oi, when Oi——
"For the love of Hiven, Doctorrr, tell me—tell me truly, Doctorrr, where in Satan's name is the dirty little practus which I bought and paid for yesterday?"
XXIII
THE SURVIVOR