What struck me in the expression of these opinions--if opinions they could be called--was their utterly illogical bearing. It was like a lot of weathercocks arguing; and when the half-tipsy Solon said, "Ask the doctor," they turned toward him, as though a direct question had been put to him, which he, as a weighty authority, could answer in a word, and thus settle the whole matter. "What I say is," said Dr. Cooper thirstily and with indistinct utterance, "that there are more ways of killing a man than one." "Ah," they all observed in effect, "Dr. Cooper knows." What it was that Dr. Cooper knew with respect to the case was not very clear. What I knew, when I heard him speak, was that he was drunk. Quickly came to my mind the suggestion whether he would be of more service to me drunk than sober. "Who's going to stand treat?" he inquired, with a nervous fingering of his pewter pot. "Your turn, doctor," they said. "If it's my turn," he replied pettishly, "you'll have to wait." They laughed, and left him one by one. Then he asked for liquor across the counter; but the barman shook his head and devoted himself to ready-money customers. I saw my opportunity, and advancing toward him, asked if he would join me in a friendly glass. "In a friendly glass," he said, "I would join Old Nick himself." A declaration which, frank as it was, could scarcely be said to be a recommendation. It was a peculiar feature of Dr. Cooper's tipsy condition that, although his speech was thick and somewhat indistinct, he did not slur or clip his words, which denoted that he still preserved some control over himself. "Beer or whisky, doctor?" I asked. "Whisky for choice," he said. "Irish." Whisky it was, and Irish; I spilled mine on the floor, and filled my glass with water. Dr. Cooper dealt with his as he dealt with the beer; it was evidently not his habit to take two bites at a cherry. "Another?" I suggested. "You're a gentleman," he said. When he had disposed of this second portion in a similar manner to the first, I opened the ball, and inwardly took credit to myself for rather artful tactics. "I came down this way, doctor," I said, "especially to see you." He seized my wrist with one hand, and put the other into his waistcoat pocket, removing it immediately, however, with a husky cough and an angry shake of his head. "No, no, doctor," I said, laughing, as he fumbled at my pulse, "I do not need professional advice to-day. The fact is, I have come to pay an old debt." He retained my hand, as though to prevent my escaping him. "You're one of the lot that has brought me down," he growled. "How much is it, and how long has it been due?" "It has been due a long time past," I replied; "and the amount is two shillings, for two bottles of medicine and advice." "Are you sure it isn't more?"