"Doctor W——, sir; lives down yonder."
"What does he say it is?"
"'Pon my word, sir, I don't think he knows more about it than other folks. Them doctors, when they once gets into a house, there's no getting them out again; and as for the good they do, they dose you, they bleed you—ay, bleed you in both senses of the word! Ha! ha! You know what I mean, sir."
I was disgusted at the vulgar contempt of this man for the noble profession of which I myself was a member, and was determined not to laugh at his low wit. I passed over his execrable joke with gravity, so as not to appear to see it.
"If the doctor knows so little about it," I said, at length, "what do the people say it is? What is the popular opinion of the young lady's malady? What are the symptoms?"
I saw by the coachman's countenance that he was rather surprised at the interest I took in the health of the young lady, and I fancy he suspected that I was a doctor.
"Symptoms, sir!" he cried. "Oh, sir, very strange ones, they say."
"How strange?" I asked.
"Well, sir, there be a good many strange reports about the squire's adopted daughter. I b'ain't a-goin' to give credit to everything I hear, but folks do say——" here he lowered his voice almost to a whisper and looked mysteriously, first over one shoulder, then over the other.
"Well," said I, "Folks say——"