Dr. Dosewell (courteously).—"We country doctors bow to our metropolitan superiors; what would you advise? You would venture, perhaps, the experiment of bleeding."
Dr. Morgan (spluttering and growing Welsh, which he never did but in excitement).—"Pleed! Cott in heaven! do you think I am a butcher—an executioner? Plead! Never."
Dr. Dosewell.—"I don't find it answer myself, when both lungs are gone! But perhaps you are for inhaling."
Dr. Morgan.—"Fiddledee!"
Dr. Dosewell (with some displeasure).—"What would you advise, then, in order to prolong our patient's life for a month?"
Dr. Morgan.—"Stop the hæmoptysis—give him Rhus!"
Dr. Dosewell.—"Rhus, sir! Rhus! I don't know that medicine. Rhus!"
Dr. Morgan.—"Rhus Toxicodendron."
The length of the last word excited Dr. Dosewell's respect. A word of five syllables—this was something like! He bowed deferentially, but still looked puzzled. At last he said, smiling frankly, "You great London practitioners have so many new medicines; may I ask what Rhus toxico—toxico—"
"Dendron."