The length of the last word excited Dr. Dosewell’s respect. A word of five syllables,—that was something like! He bowed deferentially, but still looked puzzled. At last he said, smiling frankly, “You great London practitioners have so many new medicines: may I ask what Rhus toxico—toxico—”
“Dendron.”
“Is?”
“The juice of the upas,—vulgarly called the poison-tree.” Dr. Dosewell started.
“Upas—poison-tree—little birds that come under the shade fall down dead! You give upas juice in these desperate cases: what’s the dose?”
Dr. Morgan grinned maliciously, and produced a globule the size of a small pin’s head.
Dr. Dosewell recoiled in disgust.
“Oh!” said he, very coldly, and assuming at once an air of superb superiority, “I see, a homoeopathist, sir!”
“A homoeopathist.”
“Um!”