And here, indeed, that gentleman was; wearing the gloomiest possible air, and a very dirty collar. He blundered heavily through the door, and cast himself heavily upon a chair. Having disembarrassed himself of a hat and a stethoscope, he delivered an original and entertaining monologue. "May my bones burn in hell," he said, "if I conduct this profitable enterprise for another damned minute. I’ve got the largest and dirtiest and sickest collection of common drunks in London. I’ve got all the Phthisics from here to Limehouse. Every pre-ordained son of a witch of a bricklayer within hail of the parish has broken his bandy leg, and called me in to set it. Every single woman that ever worked in a jam factory is ’expecting’ to-morrow, and there isn’t a pint of milk or a handful of coal between six of ’em. I haven’t slept a wink since yesterday morning, or sat down since last night. I haven’t had a wash since Monday, or a drink since last April. I’m fed up." This speech was listened to by James with polite attention, but perfect calm. Aunt Isobel, upon the other hand, was unable to suppress a loudish shudder. "Hullo!" cried Dr. Brink, with evident surprise. "Here’s Isobel. How are you, Isobel? Hear you’ve changed parsons again. What a rabid young flirt you are." "We have been discussing the subject of your deplorable poverty of health," responded the flirt. "We have decided that you must be made to take a tonic—Anti-Nervo, say, or Sal-Toxine. We have the very greatest faith in them, especially Anti-Nervo. You take two tablets, three times daily: one before and one after each meal." "Can’t I have one in my bath, as well?" asked Doctor Brink. "The directions," responded Aunt Isobel, "are very explicit. Two tablets three times daily—one before and one after each meal. It is a wonderful remedy. My own doctor at Chiswick—a _really_ clever man—is perfectly charmed with it. He has analysed it several times. He has the most perfectly refined voice that I have ever met with in a man. _He_ takes his profession quite seriously. He is an M.B. of Edinburgh, and a surgeon as well, and they say he is quite the youngest man who has ever attempted the two things at once. He plays the banjo most delightfully." "Good at cracking nuts, too, isn’t he?" suggested the doctor in a tired voice. "Of course," continued Aunt Isobel, "we don’t want to insist upon Anti-Nervo if there is any other genuine tonic in which you have more faith. I know many extremely intelligent people who simply swear by Sal-Toxine; and then, of course, there is Pherantidote. I have heard that Our Queen uses that. What is your opinion of Pherantidote?" "Well," responded Doctor Brink, "it’s a dam small bottle for one-and-eight. Do you really think I’m seedy, Isobel?" "We are both agreed that you require——"