“Last about a week!” said Dr. Dosewell, smiling pleasantly, and showing a very white set of teeth.
“I should have said a month; but our systems are different,” replied Dr. Morgan, dryly.
DR. DOSEWELL (courteously).—“We country doctors bow to our metropolitan superiors; what would you advise? You would venture, perhaps, the experiment of bleeding.”
DR. MORGAN (spluttering and growling Welsh, which he never did but in excitement).—“Pleed! Cott in heaven! do you think I am a putcher,—an executioner? Pleed! Never.”
DR. DOSEWELL.—“I don’t find it answer, myself, when both lungs are gone! But perhaps you are for inhaling?”
DR. MORGAN.—“Fiddledee!”
DR. DOSEWELL (with some displeasure).—“What would you advise, then, in order to prolong our patient’s life for a month?”
DR. MORGAN.—“Give him Rhus!”
DR. DOSEWELL.—“Rhus, sir! Rhus! I don’t know that medicine. Rhus!”
Dr. MORGAN.—“Rhus Toxicodendron.”