bronchitis, that in her case tubercle would be very apt to follow,
and that at present, and until she was safe, we considered marriage
undesirable.

Mr. Poynter said it might have been put stronger, but he would make it
do. He made it. The first effect was an attack of hysterics. The final
result was that she eloped with her lover, because if she was to die,
as she wrote her aunt, she wished to die in her husband's arms. Human
nature plus hysteria will defy all knowledge of character. This was what
our old professor of practice used to say.

Mr. Poynter had now to account for a large trust estate which had
somehow dwindled. Unhappily, princes are not the only people in whom you
must not put your trust. As to myself, Professor L. somehow got to know
the facts, and cut me dead. It was unpleasant, but I had my five hundred
dollars, and--I needed them. I do not see how I could have been more
careful.

After this things got worse. Mr. Poynter broke, and did not even pay
my last bill. I had to accept several rather doubtful cases, and once a
policeman I knew advised me that I had better be on my guard.

But, really, so long as I adhered to the common code of my profession I
was in danger of going without my dinner.

Just as I was at my worst and in despair something always turned up, but
it was sure to be risky; and now my aunt refused to see me, and Peninnah
wrote me goody-goody letters, and said Aunt Rachel had been unable to
find certain bank-notes she had hidden, and vowed I had taken them. This
Peninnah did not think possible. I agreed with her. The notes were
found somewhat later by Peninnah in the toes of a pair of my aunt's old
slippers. Of course I wrote an indignant letter. My aunt declared that
Peninnah had stolen the notes, and restored them when they were missed.
Poor Peninnah! This did not seem to me very likely, but Peninnah did
love fine clothes.

One night, as I was debating with myself as to how I was to improve my
position, I heard a knock on my shutter, and, going to the door, let in
a broad-shouldered man with a whisky face and a great hooked nose. He
wore a heavy black beard and mustache, and looked like the wolf in the
pictures of Red Riding-hood which I had seen as a child.

"Your name's Sanderaft?" said the man.

"Yes; that's my name--Dr. Sanderaft."

As he sat down he shook the snow over everything, and said coolly: "Set
down, doc; I want to talk with you."

"What can I do for you?" said