By dint of hurrying, Mr. Halliburton contrived to reach Savile-row, and arrived there in much heat at half-past four. There was no necessity for hurrying there on this particular day, but he felt impatient to get the business over; as if speed now could atone for past neglect. Dr. Carrington was at home but engaged, and Mr. Halliburton was shown into a room. Three or four others were waiting there; whether ordinary patients, or whether mere applicants of form like himself, he could not tell; and it was their turn to go in before it was his.
But his turn came at last, and he was ushered into the presence of the doctor—a little man, fair and reserved, with powder on his head.
Reserved in ordinary intercourse, but certainly not reserved in asking questions. Mr. Halliburton had never been so rigidly questioned before. What disorders had he had, and what had he not had? What were his habits, past and present? One question came at last: "Do you feel thoroughly strong?—healthy, elastic?"
"I feel languid in hot weather," replied Mr. Halliburton.
"Um! Appetite sound and good?"
"Generally speaking. It has not been so good of late."
"Breathing all right?"
"Yes; it is a little tight sometimes."
"Um! Subject to a cough?"
"I have no settled cough. A sort of hacking cough comes on at night occasionally. I attribute it to fatigue."