“Out o' book, ma'am. His sort don't see how the medicines work; but we do, as are always about the patient.”
“Mr. Jones,” said Lady Bassett, “if Mr. Salter, or anybody, prescribes, it is you who administer the medicine.”
Jones assented with a wink. Winking was his foible, as puckering of the face was Coyne's.
“Should you be offended if I were to offer you and the nurse ten guineas a month to pretend you had given him Mr. Salter's medicines, and not do it?”
“Oh, that is not much to do for a gentleman like Sir Charles,” said Jones. “But I didn't ought to take so much money for that. To be sure, I suppose, the lady won't miss it.”
“Don't be a donkey, Jones,” said Sir Charles, cutting short his hypocrisy. “Take whatever you can get; only earn it.”
“Oh, what I takes I earns.”
“Of course,” said Sir Charles. “So that is settled. You have got to physic those flower-pots instead of me, that is all.”
This view of things tickled Jones so that he roared with laughter. However, he recollected himself all of a sudden, and stopped with ludicrous abruptness.
He said to Lady Bassett, with homely kindness, “You go home comfortable, my lady; you have taken the stick by the right end.” He then had the good sense to retire from the room.