“Ah, Horace, my dear fellow,” he said, “I shall have to trespass on your hospitality for dinner, and then ask you to give me a bed.”
“All right,” said the doctor gruffly. “Give you a dose too, if you like.”
“Thanks, no, unless you mean wine.”
“Oh, yes, I’ll give you a glass of port,” said the doctor. “I hope you haven’t persuaded that poor woman to invest in anything risky.”
“Now, my dear Horace, what do you take me for?” cried Cousin Thompson.
“A lawyer.”
“But there are good lawyers and bad lawyers.”
“Well, from a legal point of view, you’re a bad lawyer. I never gave you but one case to conduct for me, and that you lost.”
“The barrister lost it, my dear Horace. Don’t be afraid. I am not a legal pickpocket. I might retaliate, and say you’re a bad doctor.”
“Well, so I am—horribly bad. The amount of ignorance that exists in my brain, sir, is truly frightful.”