“You and I, Beattie, are too old for this impulsive generosity,—too old by thirty years! After forty philanthropy should take a chronic form, and never have paroxysms. I think I am correct in my medical language.”
“Your medicine pleases me more than your morality,” said Beattie, laughing; “but to come back to this Sir Brook, I wish you had seen him.”
“Sir, I have seen him, and I have heard of him, and if not at liberty to say what I have heard of him, it is quite enough to state that my information cannot corroborate your opinion.”
“Well, my Lord, the possibility of what I might hear will not shake the stability of what I have seen. Remember that we doctors imagine we read human nature by stronger spectacles than the laity generally.”
“You imagine it, I am aware, sir; but I have met with no such instances of acuteness amongst your co-professionals as would sustain the claim; but why are we wandering from the record? I gave you that letter to read that you might tell me, is this boy's case a dangerous one?”
“It is a very grave case, no doubt; this is the malaria fever of Sardinia,—bad enough with the natives, but worse with strangers. He should be removed to better air at once if he could bear removal.”
“So is it ever with your art,” said the Judge, in a loud declamatory voice. “You know nothing in your difficulties but a piteous entreaty to the unknown resources of nature to assist you. No, sir; I will not hear your defence; there is no issue before the Court. What sort of practitioners have they in this island?”
“Rude enough, I can believe.”
“Could a man of eminence be found to go out there and see him?”
“A man in large practice could not spare the time; but there are men of ability who are not yet in high repute: one of these might be possibly induced.”