it seems to say; 'make your mind quite easy; feel chatty,'" said
Arthur.

He looked curiously about him, and commented humorously on the
selection of literature, till a patient was ushered out, and we were
called in.

Dr. Hall was not the least what one is inclined to think a celebrated
doctor should be. Arthur had been describing his ideal to me—"tall
and pale; stoops slightly, but very distinguished-looking, with
piercing grey eyes, a kindly reassuring manner, and grey whiskers cut
straight."

Dr. Hall was a small sallow man, with rather an agitated fussy
manner, and eyes that never seemed to be looking at you. He was neat,
almost dapper, in his dress, and was rather like the butler in a
small establishment.

He put one or two questions to Arthur; stethoscoped him, hovering all
about restlessly; suddenly caught up his left hand and pushed aside
the first finger; "Ah, cigarette-smoker—we must put a stop to that
at once, if you please. What is your usual allowance?"

"It varies," said Arthur, "but I fear it is never less than twenty."

"Four, after this date," said Dr. Hall.

"Just come into my other room a moment," he said presently, and led
the way.