“Should I!” said Cousin Thompson, raising his eyebrows thoughtfully. “Well, yes, I suppose I am next of kin. But Horace North will outlive me.”
“Is he quite off his head?”
“Hush! don’t talk about it, my dear sir. Poor fellow, he is ill; but not so very bad. I shouldn’t like it to get about amongst his patients. People chatter and exaggerate to such an extent.”
Tom Candlish smoked furiously for a few moments, and then cast away the end of his cigar, and lit another, biting the end, and frowning at his visitor.
“Now about business,” said Thompson, at last.
“Curse business!” cried the squire, as he kept on watching the lawyer keenly. “Look here, Thompson, how was it that you two being cousins, he has so much money, and you’re as poor as Job?”
“Way of the world, my dear sir—way of the world.”
Tom Candlish sat back, chewing the end of his cigar and smoking hard.
“Look here, you Thompson! Now out with it; you don’t like Dr North?”
“Like him? I hate all doctors; just as you do.”