bed, and then made a hesitating request--

"There is a poor sick man whom I brought down with me, sir, if you could
spare me half-an-hour. It really is a professional case; he is under my
charge, I may say."

"What is it, boy?"

"Well, laudanum and a broken heart."

"Exercise and ammonia for the first. For the second, God's grace and the
grave: and those latter medicines you can't exhibit, my dear boy. Well,
as it is professional duty, I suppose you must: but don't exceed the
hour; I shall lie awake till you return, and then you must talk me to
sleep."

So Tom went out and homeward with Mark and Mary, for their roads lay
together; and as he went, he thought good to tell them somewhat of the
history of John Briggs, alias Elsley Vavasour.

"Poor fool!" said Mark, who listened in silence to the end. "Why didn't
he mind his bottles, and just do what Heaven sent him to do? Is he in
want of the rhino, Tom?"

"He had not five shillings left after he had paid his fare; and he
refuses to ask his wife for a farthing."

"Quite right--very proper spirit." And Mark walked on in silence a few
minutes.

"I say, Tom, a fool and his money are soon parted. There's a five-pound
note for him, you begging, insinuating dog, and be hanged to you both! I
shall die in the workhouse at this rate."

"Oh father, you will never miss--"

"Who told you I thought I should, pray? Don't you go giving another five
pounds out of your pocket-money behind my back, ma'am. I know your
tricks of old. Tom, I'll come and see the poor beggar to-morrow with you,
and call him Mr. Vavasour--Lord Vavasour, if he likes--if you'll warrant
me against laughing in his face." And the old man did laugh, till he
stopped and held his sides again.

"Oh, father, father, don't be so cruel. Remember how wretched the poor
man is."

"I can't think of anything but old Bolus's boy turned poet. Why did you
tell me, Tom, you bad fellow? It's too much for a man at my time of
life, and after his dinner too."

And with that he opened the little gate by the side of the grand one,
and turned to ask Tom--

"Won't come in, boy, and have one more cigar?"

"I promised my father to be back as quickly as possible."

"Good lad--that's the plan to go on--

'You'll be churchwarden before all's over,
And so arrive at wealth and fame.'

Instead of writing po-o-o-etry? Do you recollect that morning, and the
black draught? Oh dear, my side!"

And Tom heard him keckling to