“Remember I am not a sea-bird like you, and fish fresh out of the water is a treat to me. Ah! poor Moffat, how particular he used to be about the fish that came to his table!”
And the speaker shook his head and helped himself to another slice of broiled salmon.
“That was a sad mistake of Girvan’s!” said Dr. Murney, looking round the room, to make sure the respectable servant who had been told they “would see to themselves” was nowhere within earshot.
“Never kept himself up with the times,” explained Dr. Connelley.
“But, gentlemen,” interrupted Mr. Hanlon, “if nature is always changing her diseases with the times, how is a doctor to keep himself posted up with regard to her latest ailment?”
“Nature does not change. Her diseases may be modified or extended by circumstances,” said Dr. Murney, “but her laws are immutable. Science, however, finds out that diseases once classed under the same head may be separated; may be—must be; and a medical man ought to keep himself abreast of science. For instance, no doubt hundreds and thousands of persons suffering like Mr. Moffat have been treated up to quite recent times for apoplexy, and died under that treatment.”
“Pleasant!” ejaculated Mr. Hanlon.
“Inevitable,” said Dr. Connelley, with philosophical composure. And after all he was right; the knowledge of those days would be deemed ignorance now.
“I will drive over to-morrow,” remarked Dr. Murney, who, having finished his breakfast, was drawing on his gloves preparatory to that return journey which was to be made once again in Mr. Moffat’s tax-cart, with one of Mr. Moffat’s horses. “Although indeed—” the pause was as significant as the words.
“And I will come too, if I can,” added Dr. Connelley; “but I am afraid—” once again an ellipsis, which Mr. Hanlon filled up at his discretion.