ncommon at the first use of the waters, so that you are not
sensible of the flavour--we must support the system--reinforce the
digestive powers--give me leave--you are a stranger, Mrs. Blower, and we
must take care of you--I have an elixir which will put that matter to
rights in a moment."

So saying, Dr. Quackleben pulled from his pocket a small portable case
of medicines--"Catch me without my tools,"--he said; "here I have the
real useful pharmacopoeia--the rest is all humbug and hard names--this
little case, with a fortnight or month, spring and fall, at St. Ronan's
Well, and no one will die till his day come."

Thus boasting, the Doctor drew from his case a large vial or small
flask, full of a high-coloured liquid, of which he mixed three
tea-spoonfuls in Mrs. Blower's cup, who, immediately afterwards, allowed
that the flavour was improved beyond all belief, and that it was "vera
comfortable and restorative indeed."

"Will it not do good to my complaints, Doctor?" said Mr. Winterblossom,
who had strolled towards them, and held out his cup to the physician.

"I by no means recommend it, Mr. Winterblossom," said Dr. Quackleben,
shutting up his case with great coolness; "your case is oedematous,
and you treat it your own way--you are as good a physician as I am, and
I never interfere with another practitioner's patient."

"Well, Doctor," said Winterblossom, "I must wait till Sir Bingo comes
in--he has a hunting-flask usually about him, which contains as good
medicine as yours to the full."

"You will wait for Sir Bingo some time," said the Doctor; "he is a
gentleman of sedentary habits--he has ordered another magnum."

"Sir Bingo is an unco name for a man o' quality, dinna ye think sae, Dr.
Cocklehen?" said Mrs. Blower. "John Blower, when he was a wee bit in the
wind's eye, as he ca'd it, puir fallow--used to sing a sang about a dog
they ca'd Bingo, that suld hae belanged to a farmer."

"Our Bingo is but a puppy yet, madam--or if a dog, he is a sad dog,"
said Mr. Winterblossom, applauding his own wit, by one of his own
inimitable smiles.

"Or a mad dog, rather," said Mr. Chatterly, "for he drinks no water;"
and he also smiled gracefully at the thoughts of having trumped, as it
were, the president's pun.

"Twa pleasant men, Doctor," said the widow, "and so is Sir Bungy too,
for that matter; but O! is nae it a pity he should bide sae lang by the
bottle? It was puir John Blower's faut too, that weary tippling;