On our return, we encountered a strange-looking individual habited in a very long coat, and wearing a hat with a brim of extraordinary breadth. Mr. Stowell let this oddity pass, then stopped and looked after him. A youth approached us as we tarried. Mr. Stowell beckoned to him.
"Pray, who is that gentleman?" he asked the boy.
"Dr. Brambleton, if he be a doctor," said the boy.
"Thank you," said my friend to his informant; then, turning to me, he added, "A most remarkable man, I am sure!"
"An empiric," I suggested. "I saw his gout specifics, and a column of his testimonials in to-day's paper." I laughed slightly, then exclaimed, "Only one more infallible cure for gout!"
Mr. Stowell looked very grave, and the boy, who lingered to hear our remarks, ran off, cackling a good imitation of "quack, quack" as he went along.
"That's all prejudice," said Stowell. "He, Dr. B., may be a benefactor of his race. I say he may be; but I am certain of this—I felt some singular twinges in my big toe while we were on the Great Slaughterton, and I have not been entirely free from them since."
"You are not a gouty subject?"
"I can't say what I may come to. I should very much like some talk with Dr. Brambleton."
"Nonsense, my dear sir."