“And suppose I took your advice, my dear Poynter, where is the friend to lend me a thousand pounds?”
“Ah! where’s the friend!” said Poynter, with a meaning look. “P’r’aps I know the friend, if things went as he wanted.”
The doctor’s face changed slightly, but his visitor was too obtuse to see it.
“And would you suggest that I should—er—preside in the little shop and sell the allegorus?”
“Ah, that ain’t a bad name, is it?” said Poynter, giving his head a shake in the stiff collar in which it rested as an egg does in a cup. “No, not you; not businesslike enough. Make Hendon do that.”
“Ah,” said the doctor slowly, as he took up the bottle, removed the stopper, and smelled the contents before moistening one finger and tasting it.
“You’ll end by poisoning yourself with that stuff, doctor,” said Poynter, chuckling.
“No,” he said blandly, “no, my dear James Poynter, no; it is a life-giver, not a destroyer. Now, if you were to take, say, twenty drops in water—”
“With sugar?” said Poynter, grinning.
“Yes, with sugar, if you liked. There’s no objection to flavouring the vehicle—water.”