Cass ran his fingers through a shock of bronze-coloured hair, and laughed at this professional view of the situation. "Haven't you seen any likely patient?" he asked, in his most sympathetic manner. "Not one!" rejoined Ellis, sitting down and relighting his pipe. "Oh, yes, by the way, that young Moxton." "Who the deuce is he?" "A young ass I have met several times in the underground train, and with whom I have had some conversation at various times." "Why do you call him an ass?" "Because he is one," growled the doctor; "he is burning the candle at both ends, and killing himself with dissipation. Tallow face, blood-shot eyes, dry lips. Oh, Mr. Moxton is making for the graveyard at racing speed!" "Why don't you warn him?" "It isn't my business to meddle with a stranger. I don't care if he lives or dies--unless he takes me as his medical attendant. Even then my interest in him would be purely professional. He is a detestable young cub." "There is a want of pity about that speech, Bob!" "Want of money, you mean. I have no pity for anyone save mine own poor self. Give me success, give me an income, and I'll overflow with the milk of human kindness. Poverty and disappointment is drying it all up. Hullo! Come in, Mrs. Basket." This invitation was induced, not by a rap at the door, but by the sound of stertorous breathing outside it. Mrs. Basket's coming was audible long before she made her appearance; so Ellis, forewarned, usually saved her the trouble of knocking. She rolled heavily into the room, labouring like a Dutch lugger in a heavy sea. Indeed, she was built on similar lines, being squat and enormously stout--so bulky, indeed, that she could hardly push herself through the door. Like most fat women, Mrs. Basket had a weakness for bright colours; and now presented herself in a vividly blue dress, a crimson shawl, and a green tulle cap decorated with buttercups of an aggressive yellow hue. Her unshapely figure, her large proportions and barbaric splendour, would have made the eyes and heart of an artist ache; but as Mrs. Basket's lodgers knew little of art, they never troubled about her looks. Moreover, they liked and respected her as a kindly soul, for on several occasions, when funds were low, she had pressed neither of them for rent. Mrs. Basket was immensely proud of having a medical man under her roof; and always personally polished the brass plate with "Robert Ellis, M.D.," inscribed on it. For Cass she had less respect, as being merely a "writing person;" but she tolerated him as the doctor's friend. Like the moon, he shone with a reflected and weaker glory. "Lor', gentlemen, how them stairs do try me!" said the good lady, panting in the doorway and patting her ample breast; "they're that steep and that narrer, as to squeeze the breath out of me." "You'll stick halfway up some day!" said Cass, chuckling, "then we shall have to send for a carpenter to saw you out!"