“It’s wonderful how the poor people patronise me,” said Mr. Bob Sawyer reflectively. “They knock me up, at all hours of the night; they take medicine to an extent which I should have conceived impossible; they put on blisters and leeches with a perseverance worthy of a better cause; they make additions to their families, in a manner which is quite awful. Six of those last-named little promissory notes, all due on the same day, Ben, and all entrusted to me!”

“It’s very gratifying, isn’t it?” said Mr. Ben Allen, holding his plate for some more minced veal.

“Oh, very,” replied Bob; “only not quite so much so as the confidence of patients with a shilling or two to spare would be. This business was capitally described in the advertisement, Ben. It is a practice, a very extensive practice⁠—and that’s all.”