'What do I think of him? Just what I thought before—congestion of the membranes. This is the low stage he is in now; I wouldn't be surprised if he'd get a little better in a few days, and then go off like the rest of them.'
'Go off! eh? Now you don't mean——'
'Don't I? Maybe not. The ould story—coma, convulsions, and death.'
'Damn the fellow!' said the Major, in a muttered voice, 'I feel as if I was in a well. But I say, Doctor, what are we to do?'
'Anything you plase. They say his family is mighty respectable, and have plenty of money. I hope so; for here am I coming three times a day, and maybe when he dies it will be a mourning ring they'll be sending me instead of my fee. He was a dissipated chap I am sure: look at the circles under his eyes!'
'Ay, ay,' said the priest, 'but they only came since his illness.'
'So much the worse,' added the invincible Doctor; 'that's always a symptom that the base of the brain is attacked.'
'And what happens then?' said the Major.
'Oh, he might recover. I knew a man once get over it, and he is alive now, and in Swift's Hospital.'
'Mad?' said the priest.