The maid stands on the step with her hand before the flaring
candle. 'The Turk's Head, in Werburgh Street,' shouts the footman, and
smack goes the coachman's whip, and the clang and rattle begin.
'That's Alderman Blunkett--he's dying,' said the major, by way of gloss
on the footman's text; and away went the carriage with thundering
wheels, and trailing sparks behind it, as if the wild huntsman had
furnished its fleet and shadowy team.
'He has ten guineas in his pocket for that--a guinea a minute, by Jove,
coining, no less,' said the major, whose pipe was out, and he thinking
of going in to replenish it. 'We'll have Toole here presently, depend
upon it.'
He had hardly spoken when Toole, in a halo of candle-light, emerged from
Sturk's hall-door. With one foot on the steps, the doctor paused to give
a parting direction about chicken-broth and white-wine whey.
These last injunctions on the door-steps had begun, perhaps in a
willingness to let folk see and even hear that the visit was
professional; and along with the lowering and awfully serious
countenance with which they were delivered, had grown into a habit, so
that, as now, he practised them even in solitude and darkness.
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