“My dear Tom,” said she, laying her white soft hand on his coarse brown fingers, “can you not see that if I even stooped to anything so unworthy, that it would compromise your whole prospects in life? You'd obtain an assistant-surgeoncy, and never rise above it.” “And do I ask to rise above it? Do I ask anything beyond getting out of this house, and earning bread that is not grudged me?” “Nay, nay; if you talk that way, I've done.” “Well, I do talk that way. He sent me off to Kilkenny last week--you saw it yourself--to bring out that trash for the shop, and he would n't pay the car hire, and made me carry two stone of carbonate of magnesia and a jar of leeches fourteen miles. You were just taking that post and rail out of Nixon's lawn as I came by. You saw me well enough.” “I am glad to say I did not,” said she, sighing. “I saw you, then, and how that gray carried you! You were waving a handkerchief in your hand; what was that for?” “It was to show Ambrose Bushe that the ground was good; he was afraid of being staked!” [Illustration: 084] “That's exactly what I am. I 'm afraid of being 'staked up' at the Hall, and if _you_ 'd take as much trouble about your brother as you did for Ambrose Bushe--” “Tom, Tom, I have taken it for eight weary months. I believe I know Bell on the bones, and Harrison on the arteries, by heart!” “Who thanks you?” said he, doggedly. “When you read a thing twice, you never forget it; but it's not so with me.” “Try what a little work will do, Tom; be assured there is not half as much disparity between people's brains as there is between their industry.” “I'd rather have luck than either, I know that. It's the only thing, after all.” She gave a very deep sigh, and leaned her head on her hand. “Work and toil as hard as you may,” continued he, with all the fervor of one on a favorite theme, “if you haven't luck you 'll be beaten. Can you deny that, Polly?” “If you allow me to call merit what you call luck, I'll agree with you. But I 'd much rather go on with our work. What is the insertion of the deltoid? I'm sure you know _that!_” [Illustration: 84] “The deltoid! the deltoid!” muttered he. “I forget all about the deltoid, but, of course, it's like the rest of them. It's inserted into a ridge or a process, or whatever you call it--” “Oh, Tom, this is very hopeless. How can you presume to face your examiners with such ignorance as this?” “I'll tell you what I'll do, Polly; Grove told me he did it,--if I find my pluck failing me, I 'll have a go of brandy before I go in.” She found it very hard not to laugh at the solemn gravity of this speech, and just as hard not to cry as she looked at him who spoke it At the same moment Dr. Dill opened the door, calling out sharply, “Where's that fellow, Tom? Who has seen him this morning?” “He's here, papa,” said Polly. “We are brushing up the anatomy for the last time.”