"I'll tell you frankly; I have an old father, sir,--a gentleman, and a scholar, and a man of science; once in as good a country practice as man could have, till, God help him, he went blind, sir--and I had to keep him, and have still. I went over the world to make my fortune and never made it; and sent him home what I did make, and little enough too. At last, in my despair, I went to the diggings, and had a pretty haul--I needn't say how much. That matters little now; for I suppose it's at the bottom of the sea. There's my story, sir, and a poor one enough it is,--for the dear old man, at least." And Tom's voice trembled so as he told it, that old Heale believed every word, and, what is more, being--like most hard drinkers--not "unused to the melting mood," wiped his eyes fervently, and went off for another drop of comfort; while Tom dusted and arranged on, till the shop began to look quite smart and business-like. "Now, sir!"--when the old man came back--"business is business, and beggars must not be choosers. I don't want to meddle with your practice; I know the rules of the profession: but if you'll let me sit here and mix your medicines for you, you'll have the more time to visit your patients, that's clear,"--and, perhaps (thought he), to drink your brandy-and-water,--"and when any of them are poisoned by me, it will be time to kick me out. All I ask is, bed and board. Don't be frightened for your spirit-bottle, I can drink water; I've done it many a time, for a week together, in the prairies, and been thankful for a half-pint in the day." "But, sir, your dignity as a--" "Fiddlesticks for dignity; I must live, sir. Only lend me a couple of sheets of paper and two queen's heads, that I may tell my friends my whereabouts,--and go and talk it over with Mrs. Heale. We must never act without consulting the ladies." That day Tom sent off the following epistle:-- "_To_ CHARLES SHUTER, Esq., M.D, _St. Mumpsimus's Hospital, London_. "DEAR CHARLEY-- "'I do adjure thee, by old pleasant days, Quartier Latin, and neatly-shod grisettes By all our wanderings in quaint by-ways, By ancient frolics, and by ancient debts,'