“I am not asleep, sir; you may come in; I am very glad to see you; I have felt very much relieved by the bleeding. I think I shall be quite well enough to proceed to-morrow. Pray, sir, can you inform me how far it is to Smatterton from this place?” “About sixty miles,” replied the surgeon. “Sixty miles!” echoed Mr Primrose; “at what a prodigious rate then we must have travelled.” Thereupon the patient raised himself up in the bed, and began, or attempted to begin, a long conversation with his doctor. “Why, sir, when I was in England last, the coach used to be nearly twice as long on the road. Is this the usual rate of travelling?” The medical man smiled, and said, “The coach by which you travelled, is by no means a quick one, some coaches on this road travel much faster.” “And pray, sir, do these coaches ever arrive safely at their journey’s end?” The surgeon smiled again and said, “Oh yes, sir, accidents are very rare.” “Then I wish,” replied Mr Primrose; “that they had not indulged me with so great a rarity just on my arrival in England. I have been in the East Indies for the last sixteen or seventeen years, and during that time--” Few medical men whose business is worth following, have time to listen to the history of a man’s life and adventures for sixteen or seventeen years. Hindoostan is certainly a very interesting country, but there is no country on the face of the earth so interesting as a man’s own cupboard. The doctor therefore cut off his patient’s speech, not in the midst, but at the very beginning; saying unto him, with a smile, for there is much meaning in a smile; “Yes sir, certainly sir, there is no doubt of it--very true; but, sir, I think it will be better for you at present to be kept quiet; and if you can get a little sleep it will be better for you. I think, sir, to-morrow, or the next day, you may venture to proceed on your journey. I will send you a composing draught as soon as I return home, and will see you again to-morrow, early in the morning. But I would not recommend you to travel by the stage coach.” “Ay, ay, thank you for that recommendation, and you may take my word I will follow it.” The doctor very quickly took his leave, and Mr Primrose thought him a very unmannerly cub, because he would not stop to talk. “A composing draught!” thus soliloquized the patient; “a composing draught! a composing fiddlestick! What does the fellow mean by keeping me thus in bed and sending me in his villanous compounds. Why, I think I am almost able to walk to Smatterton. I won’t take his composing draught; I’ll leave it here for the next coach passenger that may be overturned at the foot of this hill. I dare to say it will not spoil with keeping.”