. "Take yourself and your letter away."

"Ah," said Lemuel, "I'm glad you don't want to look at it again!" He
put the letter away, and buttoned his coat, and tapped his pocket
significantly. "You have got a nasty temper, Nathan--and there are
things here that might try it."

In the case of any other man, Benjulia would have seen that the one
object of these prudent remarks was to irritate him. Misled by his
profound conviction of his brother's stupidity, he now thought it
possible that the concealed portions of the letter might be worth
notice. He stopped Lemuel at the door. "I've changed my mind," he said;
"I want to look at the letter again."

"You had better not," Lemuel persisted. "Morphew's going to write a book
against you--and he asks me to get it published at our place. I'm on
his side, you know; I shall do my best to help him; I can lay my hand on
literary fellows who will lick his style into shape--it will be an awful
exposure!" Benjulia still held out his hand. With over-acted reluctance,
Lemuel unbuttoned his coat. The distant dog barked again as he gave
the letter back. "Please excuse my dear old dog," he said with maudlin
tenderness; "the poor dumb animal seems to know that I'm taking his side
in the controversy. _Bow-wow_ means, in his language, Fie upon the cruel
hands that bore holes in our head and use saws on our backs. Ah, Nathan,
if you have got any dogs in that horrid place of yours, pat them and
give them their dinner! You never heard me talk like this before--did
you? I'm a new man since I joined the Society for suppressing you. Oh,
if I only had the gift of writing!"

The effect of this experiment on his brother's temper, failed to fulfil
Lemuel's expectations. The doctor's curiosity was roused on the doctor's
own subject of inquiry.

"You're quite right about one thing," said Benjulia gravely; "I
never heard you talk in this way before. You suggest some interesting
considerations, of the medical sort. Come to the light." He led Lemuel
to the window--looked at him with the closest attention--and carefully
consulted his pulse. Lemuel smiled. "I'm not joking," said Benjulia
sternly. "Tell me this. Have you had headaches lately? Do you find your
memory failing you?"

As he put those questions, he thought to himself--seriously thought--"Is
this fellow's brain softening? I wish I had him on my table!"

Lemuel persisted in presenting himself under a sentimental aspect.
He had not forgiven his