"Fine specimen, sir," said Bill, "and tough work enough we've had to get him, neither; the ground's as hard as a brick-bat."
"Ah!" said the doctor, abstractedly, feeling me all over.
"Yes, sir," said the other; "and how heavy he be too!"
"Humph!" said the doctor.
"It is a bitter cold night," said Bill. "The wind howled among the trees while we was at work enough to make one's blood curdle."
"Ha!" said the doctor; "I know what that means. A glass of grog wouldn't be unacceptable, unless I mistake."
"Well, sir, you've just guessed about right," said Bill. "A glass of grog now and then, just to keep out the cold is a very fine thing, as you, being a doctor, sir, I've no doubt are well aware."
"Ha! ha!" laughed the doctor. "I perceive you understand the theory of the circulation of the blood. Well, as you have done your work well, I'll just put the kettle on the hob, and you shall have a good stiff glass apiece."
"That's the sort of thing, eh, Tom? The doctor is a real gentleman, and no mistake."
Tom acquiesced, and soon the doctor produced a tall bottle of brandy, and more than half filling two tumblers, and popping a couple of lumps of sugar into each glass, he lifted the kettle from the hob and filled them up to the brim. Then, stirring up the sugar at the bottom with the handle of his dissecting knife, he handed a glass to each of his creatures across my body.