He sank back again with a sigh, the cold perspiration ceased to ooze from his temples, and his pulse throbbed with less violence, as he smoked slowly, beginning now to look ahead as he felt the little phial.
He had his plan about ready as the step for which he listened was now heard approaching, and directly after the doctor entered the room.
“Five hundred apologies, Mr Glyddyr. You see what a slave a doctor is—everybody’s slave. No matter where he is or how he feels, if somebody has an ache or a pain, the doctor must go—yes, even,” he added bitterly, “if it is to face death in the form of some deadly fever; and generally, in addition to his pay, he hears that he is not clever because he could not perform impossibilities.”
“Not an enviable life, doctor.”
“Disgusting, sir, at times. Bah! what am I talking about? Don’t smoke that cigar; take another. No? Going?”
“Yes; I’ll get on board the yacht,” said Glyddyr. “I feel all the better for your prescription.”
“That’s right. Well, I shall see you again this evening.”
“And I am not to touch any of the old man’s champagne, eh?”
“We-ell,” said the doctor, with a quaint, smile, “Gartram’s wine is sure to be good, and a glass or two will not do you much harm. An exceptional case, my dear sir. A glass or two will brighten you, and put you in good key for conversation with the ladies.”
He smiled, and shook hands warmly with his new patient.