"Hah! And who knows but what I may be able to help you? I may remember something that does not occur to me now--a trifle or two perhaps, but which may be of importance from your point of view. Come and see me sometimes. Let me show you my library. I think you might be interested in some of my books." "I have no doubt but that I should be." "To be sure, yes. I have an old copy of Hippocrates on surgery and medicine, and I daresay many others which do not occur to me now. Yes, of course, I have Boerhaave. You will come?" "I shall be very glad to," said Chester, warmly, though his conscience smote him for what he felt to be a false pretence. "I am very, very glad," said the old man, rising, going to an old cabinet and pulling out a drawer, from which he took a key and at the same time something short and black which he cleverly thrust into the breast of his loosely-made, old-fashioned tail-coat. "Now I am about to ask a favour of you, doctor," he said, turning with a pleasant, genial smile upon his countenance. "I have other treasures here down below, besides books. Stored up and rarely brought out, bin after bin of very fine old wine. I am going to ask you to drink a glass of exceedingly old port with me." "No, no," said Chester, "you must excuse me. I never drink wine at this time of day. Let me dine with you some time or other, and then--" "Yes, of course, my dear young friend; I hope many times; but just one glass now. Don't say no. I feel to need it a little myself, for--don't think me a feeble old dotard--the fact of telling you of my weakness, of confessing to a doctor my fears of coming to an end, have upset my nerves a little, and I can't help fancying that a glass of good old wine would do me good." "I am sure it would, sir," said Chester, warmly. "Well, there! I will break a rule, and join you in one glass." "Hah!" cried the old man, brightening up; "that is very good of you, doctor--very good. I feel better already in anticipation. Now, let me see--let me see." He opened the library table drawer and took out a box of matches and an old-fashioned, curled-up twist of wax taper, such as was the accompaniment of a writing-table in sealing-wax days, fifty years or so ago. This latter he lit, and then hung a large old key upon his little finger. "The library next time you come, doctor; the cellar this time. A very fine cellar of wines, my dear sir, but wasted upon me. Just a glass now and then as a medicine. This way. I hope you will not mind the dust and cobwebs. An old-fashioned notion, but books seem to need the dust of ages, and it is precious upon them, just as old port ought to have its cobwebs and its crust. You will come with me to get a bottle?" "Oh yes," said Chester, and he followed the old man out of the room into the book-encumbered hall, and along to the back, past chest and shelf, to where there was the glass door opening on the stone flight leading down into the basement.