'Hey, your most obedient, Sir,' cried the doctor, with a short but grand
bow, affecting surprise, though his chief object in visiting the back
parlour at that moment was precisely to make a personal inspection of
the stranger. 'Pray, don't mind me, Sir,--your--ho! Breakfast ended, eh?
Coffee not so bad, Sir; rather good coffee, I hold it, at the Phoenix.
Cream very choice, Sir?--I don't tell 'em so though (a wink); it might
not improve it, you know. I hope they gave you--eh?--eh? (he peeped into
the cream-ewer, which he turned towards the light, with a whisk). And no
disputing the eggs--forty-eight hens in the poultry yard, and ninety
ducks in Tresham's little garden, next door to Sturk's. They make a
precious noise, I can tell you, when it showers. Sturk threatens to
shoot 'em. He's the artillery surgeon here; and Tom Larkin said, last
night, it's because they only dabble and quack--and two of a trade, you
know--ha! ha! ha! And what a night we had--dark as Erebus--pouring like
pumps, by Jove. I'll remember it, I warrant you. Out on business--a
medical man, you know, can't always choose--and near meeting a bad
accident too.
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