"Rather a queer customer, isn't he?" said my host; "but I have known him more than ten years now, and got ten times as fond of him every year. He is the kindest-hearted fellow I ever came across; and there is scarcely anything he cannot do. He is well-known in London; he might be Professor of this, that, and the other. But he has not a particle of ambition, though he values his profession mightily. He is fond of money, of course; but chiefly for the sake of his widowed mother, and two sisters whom he supports. You know that old Chalker of Cobstone Hill went the way of all flesh last month, leaving a large practice, all abroad. Well, I persuaded Hopmann to take to it, for they were paying him shamefully in London, for a lot of work at one of the hospitals. He has only been here about a fortnight yet, but he is sure to get on; he must get on; nothing comes amiss to him. And I want you to help him, wherever you can: you need have no fear, he is quite tip-top--too good a great deal for a country practice. But he would never do in London; he is too honest--sees through any humbug in a moment, and would tell the patient so, though he were of the Royal family. But you should see Hopmann with some old woman, who will never say 'thank you,' or pay him sixpence. That is what I admire in a man; and that tells for him too in the end, you may be sure. But come along, he is calling us, and he will be in a fury, if we let all his beautiful cookery spoil. All right, Hopmann, hop along, old fellow. A metal dish apiece for us, piping hot." "And ze last baird, he stay here and keep hot himself! And he become ze property of ze first gent zat is ready. Now, Mr. Cranleigh, you tell truth! You never taste bartrich before. For why? Because you cannot cook them in this land. You take away everyting that gives what you call ze flavour, that penetrates ze whole system of ze baird. Ach! I will cook again for you, you shall see. Shackson is not half so wise." I was fortunate enough to please him, and not in words alone, for the effect of my bit of lunch had quite worn off. In a very short time (as happens now and then when two men widely different in their main lines meet) our little corners, which are the clinging points, had fitted very nicely into one another; and I longed to know more of the man, because I knew so much of him already. For who cares to get nearer to a man who keeps his distance?