Paul Dangerfield.
'The Brass Castle, Chapelizod.'
And he dated it, and handed it to the surgeon, who read it through, and then looked with a gruff hesitation at the writer.
'Oh, you've only to enquire—anyone who knows Chapelizod will tell you who I am; and you'll want something—eh?—to take you out of this—how much?'
'Only seven guineas. There's a little score here, and some fees. Eighteen will cover everything, unless something has come in this morning.'
So they went to 'the Hatch,' and made enquiries, and all being well, Mr. Dangerfield dealt liberally with the surgeon, who promised to be in attendance at Dr. Sturk's house in Chapelizod, at seven o'clock next evening.
'And pray, Dr. Dillon, come in a coach,' said Dangerfield, 'and in costume—you understand. They've been accustomed, you know, to see Pell and other doctors who make a parade.'
And with these injunctions they parted; and the surgeon, whose luggage was trifling, jumped into a coach with it, and jingled home to his den and his liberty.