“Um!”
“A strange system, Dr. Morgan,” said Dr. Dosewell, recovering his cheerful smile, but with a curl of contempt in it, “and would soon do for the druggists.”
“Serve ‘em right. The druggists soon do for the patients.”
“Sir!”
“Sir!”
DR. DOSEWELL (with dignity).—“You don’t know, perhaps, Dr. Morgan, that I am an apothecary as well as a surgeon. In fact,” he added, with a certain grand humility, “I have not yet taken a diploma, and am but doctor by courtesy.”
DR. MORGAN.—“All one, sir! Doctor signs the death-warrant, ‘pothecary does the deed!”
DR. DOSEWELL (with a withering sneer).—“Certainly we don’t profess to keep a dying man alive upon the juice of the deadly upas-tree.”
DR. MORGAN (complacently).—“Of course you don’t. There are no poisons with us. That’s just the difference between you and me, Dr. Dosewell.”
DR. DOSEWELL (pointing to the homeopathist’s travelling pharmacopoeia, and with affected candour).—“Indeed, I have always said that if you can do no good, you can do no harm, with your infinitesimals.”