The Freemason's Daughter: A Novel — page 55: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

46 THE FREEMASONS DAUGHTER. “‘ Brandy !”” repeated the merchant, with an air of surprise. “Yes, sir; 1t could do him no harm, could it 2?” ‘“‘ How should I know—I am no doctor ?” And here her visitor chuckled to himself. The attack which, under ordinary circumstances, would in all probability have exhausted itself, had been heightened by the indiscreet kindness of the sufferer’s friend, who, like most ignorant men, entertained a vague idea that brandy was a specific for everything. When his employer entered the narrow, ill-ventilated room, he found his old clerk lying exhausted upon the narrow humble couch. The paroxysm had just sub- sided, and his eyes were closed. Tim’s Dick, ashrewd- looking fellow, whose wiry frame and cat-like expression of countenance, indicated both intelligence and activity, was seated on a broken chair by his side, holding the hand of the sufferer, and endeavouring to persuade him to take another glass of brandy. ‘‘'Take it, man,” he said, “‘ and it will make thee as right as twenty *poticaries.” Gilbert smiled. He felt that ignorance was doing the work of cunning. At the sight of the great Mr. Grindem, the poor weaver, whose friendship had induced him to give all that it was in his power to bestow—his time—which, after all, was his own and his children’s bread, rose from his rickety seat, and saluted _ the merchant with a smile. Tim’s Dick was a philosopher in his way, and it did his feOniiclooe! SS (SO