"Precisely," said I. "And here is Christmas on top of us and nothing for the tree except a few trifling gems and other things."
"Well, my dear fellow," said the kindly visitant, "if you'll intrust yourself to my care I'll cure you in a jiffy. There never was a case of immediate woe that I couldn't cure, but you've got to have confidence in me.
"Sort of faith cure, eh?" I smiled.
"Exactly," he replied. "If you don't believe in Old Bills, Old Bills cannot relieve your distress."
"But what do you propose to do, Doctor?" I asked. "What is your course of treatment?"
"That's my business," he retorted. "You don't ask your family physician to outline his general plan to you when you summon him to treat you for gout, do you?"
"Well, I generally like to know more of him than I know of you," said I, apologetically, for I had no wish to offend him. "For instance, are you allopath, or a homœopath, or some hitherto untrodden path?"
"Something of a homœopath," he admitted.
"Then you cure trouble with trouble?" I asked, rather more pertinently, as the event showed, than I imagined.
"I cure trouble with ease," he replied glibly. "You may accept or reject my services. It's immaterial to me."