“Here, my man,” said the doctor, turning to the smiling butcher, “here is ten pence ha’penny, the price of your meat.”
“What? What do you mean?” asked the butcher.
“I mean, sir, that I take you at your word. You said the meat was a penny a pound. At that price I bought it for the poor old woman. It’s all I’ll pay you. Good morning, sir.”
THE ASTONISHED BUTCHER.
I can imagine the “chop-fallen” butcher, standing, in his long frock, with a beaten expression of countenance, alternating his gaze between the pence in his palm and the retreating form of the wigged and laughing old doctor.
A Report on Teeth.
Many stories are told of the eccentricities of Dr. Monsey, and
“No man could better gild a pill,
Or make a bill,
Or mix a draught, or bleed, or blister,
Or draw a tooth out of your head,
Or chatter scandal by your bed,
Or tell a twister.”