Mr. Dawkins, to whom the clean white bandages about his head imparted an air of weakness and infirmity, replied with a stave or two from a patriotic ballad, and then seated himself in a chair. The tooth was removed. Mr. Dawkins then examined the doctor’s forceps and apostrophised the trophy which they still held. "Ache away, ye beggar!" he exclaimed. "Who’s laughin’ now? ... What I got to pay you, Doctor?" "One shilling altogether," replied the doctor. Mr. Dawkins flung down half-a-crown. "Take it out of that," he cried. "I never paid a bob more ’earty. Nor I never met a genelman as was nicer spoken nor ’andier. And when I make me mind up in regards to this leg I’ll bring it round to you. Me and my family is noted for our limbs. There’s a uncle o’ mine what ’ad a bone took out o’ ’is ankle what they keeps in a bottle at Guy’s ’Orspital to this day. Comin’ out to ’ave one, Doctor? It’s my birthday." The doctor regretted that professional engagements previously entered into prevented him from accepting the very kind invitation of Mr. Dawkins. He also handed that gentleman his change and a small packet of tissue-paper which contained the tooth—the latter offertory being based upon an immemorial custom of the spot-cash trade. And Mr. Dawkins expressed his gratitude in song, and Mr. Dawkins’s bodyguard assisted in the swelling chorus thereof. And as Doctor Brink shook hands with each in turn and received their oft-repeated praises, he returned to the question which was still unanswered. "How _did_ that head get cracked, Mr. Dawkins? A slight dispute, eh?" "Dispute!" echoed Mr. Dawkins. "Me? On me birthday? Why I bin sittin’ in the ’Four Soldiers’ as gentle as a clurk from two o’clock this arternoon. Ain’t that right, mates?" "Certainly. What ’e’s tellin’ you is right, sir," confirmed the bodyguard. "Not even a friendly spar?" queried the puzzled doctor. "It’s me birthday, I tell you," reiterated Mr. Dawkins. "And I bin sittin’ like a corpse in the ’Four Soldiers.’ First time I bin in there for four months, and——" "How did your head get cracked, then?" "That," said Mr. Dawkins, with dignity, "is what I was goin’ to explain, old bird. There’s a Scotchman got the ’Soldiers’ now, you see, and ’e’s a iggerant swine, and—— They’ve moved the blessed step!" *XXXVII* *THE MORAL SENSE* "Good morning, Mrs. Budd," said Doctor Brink, meeting that lady in his waiting-room. "I suppose you’ve called round for the medicine." "Well, sir," responded Mrs. Budd, turning up a red nose and two very swollen eyes, "I ’ave and I ’aven’t. Could I see you privit?" Doctor Brink led the way into the consulting-room and lit a pipe, at the same time inviting Mrs. Budd to "let us have it!" "Now then, Mrs. Budd, let’s have it!" Mrs. Budd began to cry. "That isn’t what I asked for," explained the doctor.