"If you will pardon me, sir, for saying it, I do not think you ought to take what Dr. Spreckley says for granted. You should have better advice."
"The London doctors have been down once--and they did me no good. They'd not do it now. And there'd be the trouble and expense incurred for nothing."
"I was not thinking of London doctors, sir, but of one nearer home--Dr. Jago."
"Pooh! They say he is a quack."
Hubert Stone bent his head, and talked low and earnestly--describing what he had heard of Dr. Jago's wonderful skill.
"I--I know a little of medicine myself, sir," he added; "sometimes I wish I had been brought up to it, for I believe I have a natural aptitude for the science, and I read medical books, and have been in hospitals; and--and I think, Squire, that a clever practitioner who knows his business could at least keep you alive until next April. Ay, and past it. I almost think I could."
Mr. Denison smiled. The idea of Hubert dabbling in such things tickled him.
"Well, and how would you set about it?" he demanded in pleasant mockery.
Hubert said a few words in a low tone; his voice seemed to grow lower as he continued. He looked strangely in earnest; his face was dark and eager.
"The lad must be mad--to think he could keep me alive by those means!" interrupted the Squire, staring at Hubert from under his shaggy brows, as though he half thought he saw a lunatic before him.