our ears with such stuff?'

'Stuff or not, so I am advised seriously. What think you of it?'

Thus appealed to, Doctor Frank regarded his brother more critically.

'That is right,' said Hiram. 'Now that you are here, give me an
examination.'

Doctor Frank thereupon asked several pertinent questions, to which
satisfactory replies were made. He sounded Hiram's chest: it was
responsive as a drum. Then he proceeded to manipulate him in a more
professional way. He put his ear close down, and held it for a minute,
to get the pulsation of the heart. This he repeated two or three times.

Hiram's face grew anxious.

'You find something wrong,' he said.

His brother made no reply, except to ask more questions.

At last he exclaimed, 'You are all right, Hiram--all right. There _is_ a
little irregularity about the action of the heart: it is not chronic,
but connected with the digestive organs. You are in as good health as a
man could ask to be. Only, don't use your brain quite so much; it
interferes with your digestion, and that in you affects the action of
the heart. It is not worth mentioning, I assure you' (Hiram was looking
alarmed); 'but, since you can just as well as not, I say, take more
exercise, and give your brain a holiday now and then.'

'Thank you--thank you! So you don't think there is anything in the idea
that I shall be--be--struck with paralysis--at about the same age that
mother was?'

'Pure nonsense, Hiram--utter nonsense!' exclaimed Doctor Frank,
cheerfully. [He knew how foolish it is to alarm one.] 'Still, exercise,
exercise. That we ought all to do.'

The next day, Hiram commenced his morning rides; one hour before
breakfast regularly.

He had fought the battle of life, and had won. Now he was called on to
go into another contest. He set to work at this with his customary
assiduity.

No one who saw the millionnaire on his horse, trotting sharply over the
road very early in the morning, understood really what was going on.

One day, however, Dr. Ephraim Peters caught sight of him, spurring on
under full headway, as if everything depended on the work he had in
hand.

'Do you know who that is, and what he is about?' asked the young doctor
of his companion.

'No.'

'It is Hiram Meeker, _fighting Death_'

CHAPTER V.

As the gay season progressed, the love affair between Signor Filippo
Barbone and the daughter of the millionnaire was not permitted to
languish.

The Signor was not in soc