Why he should be so solicitous for the welfare of the Turk as to seek a doctor can hardly be told, unless for the pleasure of fighting with him again. The doctor is not long in appearing from the hall entrance. With three-cornered hat perched above an enormous wig and painted face, there was a professional air about him. With a leer and a funny grimace at the crowd he began his doggerel speech. "Oh, yes, there is a doctor to be found, The best old doctor in the town, On my back I carry my pack, Of pills both white, and brown, and black." St. George stalked toward him and asked, "What can you cure? Can you cure this man?" "Cure? I can cure the palsy, and gout, If the devil's in him, I'll soon pull 'im out." The spectators crowded forward. Could the doctor cure the slain Turk? Oh, yes. How wisely he goes about his work! He tries one remedy after another, but of no avail. The Turk had told St. George in their last encounter that he was going to fight no more. He wasn't going to fight again, but to sham being dead, and then they would have to bring on the other players. He was shamming wonderfully well, until even the squire thought he was possibly badly hurt. The doctor knew different, however, for he had been posted by St. George, and so he drew from his pocket a bottle of exceedingly strong smelling salts. He had purloined it from his mother's bureau. This would make him well, he averred. St. George had kindness enough to hold the Turk's head down, while the doctor was administering the dose. Three great strong whiffs entered the Turk's nostrils, and seemed to enter every part of his head like the stinging of a million hornets. He would have gotten up then and there and fought the whole crowd had not St. George held his head, and the doctor thought he had better have the full dose. "Achew! Achew! Achew!" St. George let go the Turk's head, and the doctor nimbly stepped aside; the Turk with all the wrath of his race in his face, grasped his sword and fought like a demon for a few moments. His being killed three times seemed to increase his power. Then the natural superiority of Ande in the use of the sword began to assert itself, and the Turk thought that the sooner he fell the better, and accordingly did so. The old doctor slowly advanced and shook his head, as if all his skill was of no avail to resuscitate the slain Saracen. "Ashes to ashes, and dust to dust, If man can't cure 'im, old Nick must." The doctor waved his staff, and in capered the dragon, a sort of hobble horse made of hoops under distended canvas, and worked by an inside performer. The great snapping jaws and staring eyes scared the little ones, but they laughed when they found it was only the slain Turk that he wanted. The unfortunate Turk, grasped by those rigorous jaws, was dragged from the hall.