Chapter Five.
The Doctor’s Patients Want him at Home.
“Ah! Horace, old man, back again?”
“Yes. I should have come on sooner, but I—Hallo! gloves! Why, what’s the matter with your hands?”
“Oh! nothing. Rubbed the skin off my knuckles. That’s all.”
“Humph!” said the curate’s visitor—Horace North; and there was a curious twinkle in his eyes. “I say, I should have been over sooner, but I found a letter from Luke Candlish, asking me to go across to the Hall, as his brother was unwell.”
“Oh!” said the curate quietly.
“Went over and found the squire nearly drunk. He’s killing himself fast.”
“They’re a nice pair,” said the curate grimly.