The Argosy — page 288: what you’re looking at

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

267 SANDSTONE TORR. R. DUFFHAM the surgeon stood making up pills and powders in his surgery at Church Dykely, the mahogany counter before him, the shelves filled with glass bottles of coloured liquids behind him. Weighing out grains of this and that in the small scales that rested beside the large ones, both sets at the end of the counter, was he, and measuring out drops with a critical eye. The day promised to be piping- hot, and his summer house-coat, of slate-coloured twill, was thrown back on his shoulders. Spare and wiry little man though he was, he felt the heat. He was rather wondering that no patients had come in yet, for people knew that this was the time to catch him, before he started on his rounds, and he generally had an influx on Monday morning. Visitor the first. The surgery-door, standing close to the open front one, was tapped at, and a tall, bony woman entered, dressed in a big straw bonnet with primrose ribbons, a blue cotton gown and cotton shawl. Eunice Gibbon, Mrs. Stephen Radcliffe’s sister.: ‘“‘Good morning, Mr. Duffham,” she said, lodging her basket on the counter. ‘I be fnghtfully out o’ sorts, sir, and think I sha’n’t be right till I’ve took a bottle or two o’ physic. +B | “Sit down,” said the doctor, coming in front of the counter, pre- paratory to Sepirind into the sick symptoms. She sat down in one of the two chairs: and Duffham, after sundry questions, told her that her liver was out of order. She answered that she could have told him that, for nothing but “liver” was ever the matter with her. He went behind the counter again to make up a bottle of some delectable stuff good for the complaint, and Eunice sat waiting for it, when the surgery door was pushed open with a whirl and a bang, and Tod and I burst in. To see Funice Gibbon there, took us aback. It seemed a very curious coincidence, con- sidering what we had come about. “Well, young gentlemen,” quoth Duffham, looking rather surprised, and detecting our slight discomfiture, “‘does either of you want my services ?” “Yes,” said Tod, boldly; ‘Johnny does: he has a headache. We'll wait, Mr. Duffham.” Leaning on the counter, we watched the progress of the making-up in silence, Duffham exchanging a few words with Eunice Gibbon at intervals. Suddenly he opened upon a subject that caused Tod to give me a private dig with his elbow. ‘And how were the cries last night?” asked Duffham. ‘Did you hear much of them ?” COMICSOoOlKS.EcO am