“Bless us and save us, sir! What has happened?” exclaimed this worthy personage, holding up her hands. “Pish! I am faint: let me in. I don’t want your aid any more, sir. Thank you. Good day!” Not discouraged by this farewell, the churlish tone of which fell harmless on the invincibly sweet temper of Arthur, the young man continued to assist the sufferer along the narrow passage into a little old-fashioned parlour; and no sooner was the owner deposited on his worm-eaten leather chair than he fainted away. On reaching the house, Arthur had sent his servant (who had followed him with the horses) for the nearest surgeon; and while the woman was still employed, after taking off the sufferer’s cravat, in burning feathers under his nose, there was heard a sharp rap and a shrill ring. Arthur opened the door, and admitted a smart little man in nankeen breeches and gaiters. He bustled into the room. “What’s this--bad accident--um--um! Sad thing, very sad. Open the window. A glass of water--a towel.” “So--so: I see--I see--no fracture--contusion. Help him off with his coat. Another chair, ma’am; put up his poor legs. What age is he, ma’am?--Sixty-eight! Too old to bleed. Thank you. How is it, sir? Poorly, to be sure: will be comfortable presently--faintish still? Soon put all to rights.” “Tray! Tray! Where’s my dog, Mrs. Boxer?” “Lord, sir, what do you want with your dog now? He is in the back-yard.” “And what business has my dog in the back-yard?” almost screamed the sufferer, in accents that denoted no diminution of vigour. “I thought as soon as my back was turned my dog would be ill-used! Why did I go without my dog? Let in my dog directly, Mrs. Boxer!” “All right, you see, sir,” said the apothecary, turning to Beaufort--“no cause for alarm--very comforting that little passion--does him good--sets one’s mind easy. How did it happen? Ah, I understand! knocked down--might have been worse. Your groom (sharp fellow!) explained in a trice, sir. Thought it was my old friend here by the description. Worthy man--settled here a many year--very odd--eccentric (this in a whisper). Came off instantly: just at dinner--cold lamb and salad. ‘Mrs. Perkins,’ says I, ‘if any one calls for me, I shall be at No. 4, Prospect Place.’ Your servant observed the address, sir. Oh, very sharp fellow! See how the old gentleman takes to his dog--fine little dog--what a stump of a tail! Deal of practice--expect two accouchements every hour. Hot weather for childbirth. So says I to Mrs. Perkins, ‘If Mrs. Plummer is taken, or Mrs. Everat, or if old Mr. Grub has another fit, send off at once to No. 4. Medical men should be always in the way--that’s my maxim. Now, sir, where do you feel the pain?” “In my ears, sir.” “Bless me, that looks bad. How long have you felt it?” “Ever since you have been in the room.”