The doctor took a chair and sat down opposite his friend.
The barrister continued after a pause, "How many years did you say it was since you saw me last, Duncan?"
"About three."
"And I have changed so much in that time that you didn't know me. Pooh! what do I care? It's all over. No good crying over spilt milk. Have a drink, my boy. What will you take?"
"Nothing now, thanks; I am going to sup."
"Nonsense! Waiter, two brandies. If you won't name your poison yourself I must do it for you. Let's look at you, Duncan. You look fit enough—not much older. I've heard of you—got all the best appointments at your hospital—lucky man!"
The brandies came. The doctor observed that Hudson drank his neat this time, and then commenced to become quite sober again—a dangerous symptom.
"Hudson," said the doctor, "excuse me, old man, but what on earth is the meaning of all this? You don't look the man you were. You are twenty years older."
"Well! I am older, old man," Hudson replied, flippantly.
"Yes, but only by three years or so. What a fellow you were then, and now you look as if you were going to the dogs."