“There goes my gallop,” groaned the doctor, as a mental vision of Leo Salis appeared before him, while he rang the bell.
“Not ill, are you? Come to consult me?”
“No, I’m not ill; but I have come to consult you, my dear Horace.”
“Did you ring, sir?”
“Yes, Mrs Milt; my cousin would like some breakfast.”
“I am getting it ready, sir; but it can’t be done in two minutes and a half.”
“No, no, of course not, Mrs Milt. Thank you. Send word when it’s ready.”
“I’ll bring word myself, sir,” said Mrs Milt austerely.
“No, don’t trouble, my dear Mrs Milt,” said Cousin Thompson, who looked so sleek in skin and black cloth that he shone; “a cup of coffee and a sole, cutlet—anything.”
“Sole! cutlet! My dear fellow, this isn’t London. Give him some ham and eggs, Mrs Milt,” said the doctor. “Now, old fellow,” he continued, as the door closed after the housekeeper a little more loudly than was necessary, “business: what’s the matter? Liver?”