“I say, doctor, are you a necromancer or a magician?”
“Bit of both, my dear sir. Here, I’ll begin and give you a dose at once.”
“No, hang it all, doctor, not quite so soon,” said Glyddyr, glancing at the shelves with their large array of bottles.
“Stitch in time saves nine, sir,” said the doctor, taking out his keys, opening a closet of quaint old carved oak, and bringing forth tumblers, a seltzogene, and a large, curiously-cut decanter. “There, take one third of that to two-thirds of the carbonic water, and one of these,” he continued, handing a cigar box.
“Oh, come!” said Glyddyr, laughing. “Doctor Asher, if you’ll come to town I’ll guarantee you a fortune.”
“Thank you,” said the doctor, helping himself mechanically to that which he had prescribed; and as soon as he had lit his cigar, throwing himself back in another chair. “But no, my lot seems cast here, and I don’t think I shall change. Drop of good whisky, that?”
“Delicious; but is this all the medicine I’m to have?”
“No, I’ll send you a box of pills. Take a couple now and then, and leave the champagne alone.”
“I beg pardon, sir, you are wanted at the hotel,” said the servant, after a tap at the door, from behind which she spoke without attempting to enter.
“Yes: directly.”