"What, do you wish to quarrel with me, sir? It is I who ought to quarrel with you. I am the aggrieved party, and not you, sir! I have not seen the son of the man who, when I was an apothecary's boy, petted me, lent me books, introduced me as a genius, turned my head for me, which was just what I was vain enough to enjoy--I have not seen that man's son cast ashore penniless and friendless, and yet never held out to him a helping hand, but tried to conceal my identity from him, from a dirty shame of my honest father's honest name." Vavasour dropped his eyes, for was it not true? but he raised them again more fiercely than ever. "Curse you! I owe you nothing. It was you who made me ashamed of it. You rhymed on it, and laughed about poetry coming out of such a name." "And what if I did? Are poets to "be made of nothing but tinder and gall?" Why could you not take an honest joke as it was meant, and go your way like other people, till you had shown yourself worth something, and won honour even, for the name of Briggs?" "And I have! I have my own station now, my own fame, sir, and it is nothing to you what I choose to call myself. I have won my place, I say, and your mean envy cannot rob me of it." "You have your station. Very good," said Tom, not caring to notice the imputation; "you owe the greater part of it to your having made a most fortunate marriage, for which I respect you, as a practical man. Let your poetry be what it may (and people tell me that it is really very beautiful), your match shows me that you are a clever, and therefore a successful person." "Do you take me for a sordid schemer, like yourself? I loved what was worthy of me, and won it because I deserved it." "Then, having won it, treat it as it deserves," said Tom, with a cool searching look, before which Vavasour's eyes fell again. "Understand me, Mr. John Briggs; it is of no consequence to me what you call yourself: but it is of consequence to me that I should not have a patient in my parish whom I cannot cure; for I cannot cure broken hearts, though they will be simple enough to come to me for medicine." "You shall have no chance! You shall never enter my house! You shall not ruin me, sir, by your bills!" Tom made no answer to this fresh insult. He had another game to play. "Take care what you say, Briggs; remember that, after all, you are in my power, and I had better remind you plainly of the fact." "And you mean to make me your tool? I will die first!" "I believe that," said Tom, who was very near adding, "that he should be sorry to work with such tools." "My tools are my lancet and my drugs," said he, quietly, "and all I have to say refers to them. It suits my purpose to become the principal medical man in this neighbourhood--" "And I am to tout for introductions for you?"