'Pen and ink in the drawing-room, Doctor Pell,' said Toole, reverentially.
'Oh! no, no, Madam, excuse me,' murmured Doctor Pell, gently pressing back Mrs. Sturk's fee, the residuum of Dangerfield's bounty, with his open palm.
'Oh, but Doctor Pell,' urged she, in a persuasive aside, half behind him, in the shadow of the doorway.
'Pray, Madam, no more—pardon me,' and Doctor Pell, with a peremptory bow, repelled his fee.
Why do physicians take their honest earnings in this clandestine way—transacted like favours, secret, sweet, and precious; and pocketed in dark corners, and whispers, like the wages of sin? Cold Doctor Pell here refused a very considerable fee. He could on occasion behave handsomely; but I can't learn that blustering, hilarious Doctor Rogerson ever refused his.
And the doctor descended, not hastily, but very swiftly, and was in the drawing-room, and the door shut.
'Gone, poor gentleman!' said Toole, in an under tone—his phraseology became refined in Pell's presence; he'd have said 'poor devil,' or 'poor dog,' if he had been with Doctor Rogerson.
Pell held the pen in his thin lips, while he tore off half-a-sheet of paper, and only shook his head funereally.
So, taking the pen in his fingers, he said, 'We'll give him so and so, if you approve.'
'Very good, Sir,' said Toole, deferentially; and Pell, not seeming to hear, dashed off a few spattered lines, with necromantic circles and zigzags at the end of each.