"Give me something, for Heaven's sake!" said the skipper, humbly. "I'm
dying." The doctor pondered.

"If you dinna treat him at once, I'll break your skull," said the mate,
persuasively.

The doctor regarded him scornfully, and turned to the writhing skipper.

"My fee is half a guinea a visit," he said, softly; "five shillings if
you come to me."

"I'll have half a guinea's worth," said the agonized skipper.

The doctor took his wrist, and calmly drew the second officer's watch
from its owner's pocket. Then he inspected the sick man's tongue, and
shaking his head, selected a powder from the chest.

"You mustn't mind its being nasty," he said. "Where's a spoon?"

He looked round for one, but the skipper took the powder from his hand,
and licked it from the paper as though it had been sherbet.

"For mercy's sake don't say it's cholera," he gasped.

"I won't say anything," said the doctor. "Where did you say the money
was?"

The skipper pointed to his trousers, and Mr. Mackenzie, his national
spirit rising in hot rage, took out the agreed amount and handed it to
the physician.