"Peculiarly susceptible in religious and intellectual persons," says he.
"Running down the limb!" says I.
"Both limbs," says he, "which a weight carried on the lap is sure to exasperate if it does not end in kinking up the siotic and crippling the l—limbs."
"Are you a doctor?" says I.
He smiled.
"A sort of one," says he, and, without more words, he took my satchel and sat it down by his, under the seat, as sociable as could be.
After that, he took hold of my hand, as if he was a-going to feel my pulse, looking sweetly anxious.
"Is there a siotic there?" says I.
He gave my hand a hard squeeze, and seemed to ruminate.
"It takes a little time to discover," says he, half closing his eyes. "Be tranquil; there is no danger now. The arm has been in one position rather too long; change was necessary. But this is a change."