“His head must be in capital order for it, after his night's exploit. I heard of you, sir, and your reputable wager. Noonan was up here this morning with the whole story!” “I 'd have won if they 'd not put snuff in the punch--” “You are a shameless hound--” “Oh, papa! If you knew how he was working,--how eager he is to pass his examination, and be a credit to us all, and owe his independence to himself--” “I know more of him than you do, miss,--far more, too, than he is aware of,--and I know something of myself also; and I tell him now, that if he's rejected at the examination, he need not come back here with the news.” “And where am I to go, then?” asked the young fellow, half insolently. “You may go--” Where to, the doctor was not suffered to indicate, for already Polly had thrown herself into his arms and arrested the speech. “Well, I suppose I can 'list; a fellow need not know much about gallipots for that.” As he said this, he snatched up his tattered old cap and made for the door. “Stay, sir! I have business for you to do,” cried Dill, sternly. “There's a young gentleman at the 'Fisherman's Home' laid up with a bad sprain. I have prescribed twenty leeches on the part. Go down and apply them.” “That's what old Molly Day used to do,” said Tom, angrily.' “Yes, sir, and knew more of the occasion that required it than you will ever do. See that you apply them all to the outer ankle, and attend well to the bleeding; the patient is a young man of rank, with whom you had better take no liberties.” “If I go at all--” “Tom, Tom, none of this!” said Polly, who drew very close to him, and looked up at him with eyes full of tears. “Am I going as your son this time? or did you tell him--as you told Mr. Nixon--that you 'd send your young man?” “There! listen to that!” cried the doctor, turning to Polly. “I hope you are proud of your pupil.” She made no answer, but whispering some hurried words in her brother's ear, and pressing at the same time something into his hand, she shuffled him out of the room and closed the door. The doctor now paced the room, so engrossed by passion that he forgot he was not alone, and uttered threats and mumbled out dark predictions with a fearful energy. Meanwhile Polly put by the books and drawings, and removed everything which might recall the late misadventure. “What's your letter about, papa?” said she, pointing to a square-shaped envelope which he still held in his hand. “Oh, by the way,” said he, quietly, “this is from Cob-ham. They ask us up there to dinner to-day, and to stop the night.” The doctor tried very hard to utter this speech with the unconcern of one alluding to some every-day occurrence. Nay, he did more; he endeavored to throw into it a certain air of fastidious weariness, as though to say, “See how these people will have me; mark how they persecute me with their attentions!”