"I'm sure he is," said Dr Thorne.
"Not that he'd make anything of a case like this now—he's not, you know, quite—quite—perhaps not quite up to the new time of day, if one may say so."
"He has had a very extensive provincial practice," said Dr Thorne.
"Oh, very—very; and made a tidy lot of money too, has Fillgrave. He's worth six thousand pounds, I suppose; now that's a good deal of money to put by in a little town like Barchester."
"Yes, indeed."
"What I say to Fillgrave is this—keep your eyes open; one should never be too old to learn—there's always something new worth picking up. But, no—he won't believe that. He can't believe that any new ideas can be worth anything. You know a man must go to the wall in that way—eh, doctor?"
And then again they were called to their patient. "He's doing finely, finely," said Mr Rerechild to Lady Scatcherd. "There's fair ground to hope he'll rally; fair ground, is there not, doctor?"
"Yes; he'll rally; but how long that may last, that we can hardly say."
"Oh, no, certainly not, certainly not—that is not with any certainty; but still he's doing finely, Lady Scatcherd, considering everything."
"How long will you give him, doctor?" said Mr Rerechild to his new friend, when they were again alone. "Ten days? I dare say ten days, or from that to a fortnight, not more; but I think he'll struggle on ten days."