“Can I render any professional assistance?” he asked, looking in.
“Yes,” exclaimed Harry; “what can be done for this lady?”
“Will she step out?” asked the medical practitioner.
“She is unable, sir,” said Harry.
“Oh! I beg pardon; I will feel her pulse,” was the rejoinder. The apothecary made a long face.
“Why, do you know, sir, the old lady is dead!” he exclaimed, rather offended at Harry having brought him out to a dead patient. “I can do nothing for her, sir.”
“Dead!” exclaimed Harry, with a feeling of horror. “Are you sure that she is dead?”
“Never was more sure of a fact in my life, sir. You can send for her executors and the undertaker when you get home; that is the only advice I can give you.”
Harry told the coachman to drive on. “But do I not owe you a fee, sir, for your trouble?”