"How are we?" said Octavius after a long silence, broken with an effort by his brother; "how are we? Shall I put out my tongue, Tom? Would you like to feel my pulse, Tom, and sound my chest, eh, Tom? Come and try, Tom, and perhaps I shall knock you down--you humbug, you; for I'm sound as a roach yet, Tom, and shall live a score of years. Only seventy-five, Tom; that's boyish, isn't it? Better than being sixty, and fat, and a humbug like you, ain't it? `How are we?' Ugh! drop that professional cant, or else stand up and rub your hands together softly, as you ought. What did you come for? Did you come to quarrel?" "I came because you sent for me, sir," said Doctor Hardon with dignity, settling his chin in his voluminous white neckcloth and using a gold toothpick as he leaned back in his easy-chair. "Sent for you--sent for you? Well, yes; so I did--so I did, Tom," chuckled Octavius; "but not to doctor me, Tom, nor to send `the mixture as before,' nor to send `the pill at bedtime and the draught in the morning.' No, Tom, no. How long would it take you to kill me decently, Tom, eh?--decently and respectably; eh, Tom, eh?" "Fond of your joke as ever, Octy," said the doctor with a sickly smile. "Just so, Tom; just so," croaked and chuckled Octavius; "but you are no joke, Tom. I'm not fond of you. Brande's bad enough, but you're a devil, Tom." "I've been thinking of coming over to see you several times," said the doctor, trying to change the conversation; "and I should have called when passing, only you will misconstrue my ways, Octy." "Me? misconstrue? No, no, Tom, not I," chuckled Octavius; "I don't misconstrue. I believe you want to come, that I do. Now what's up, Tom, eh?" said the old man, fixing his keen grey eyes upon the doctor. "You want money, Tom, don't you? But, there, you won't own to it like a man, but be indignant and offended. You've a soul above money, you have, Tom; and you wouldn't stoop to borrow money of your poor brother, Tom, even if he'd lend it to you." The doctor moved uneasily in his chair, glancing again and again round the room, while his brother continued to watch him with his keen unflinching eyes. "Yes, I sent for you, Tom,--I sent for you," continued Octavius; "but not to doctor me. I should be afraid of your not thoroughly understanding my constitution, Tom, and overdosing me. But look here, Tom," chuckled the old man, leaving his seat and coughing drily, as, bent and failing, he crossed the room to a bureau and brought out a silver teaspoon and a bottle containing some dark liquid. "Look here, Tom," he said, reseating himself, and then pouring with trembling hand a portion of the liquid into the spoon, and in the act spilling a few drops over the side. "There," he said, smacking his lips after swallowing the fluid, and then stooping fumbling about in the fender for the stopper, that had slipped through his fingers.