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“I will give you day and date for them, if necessary.”

“No, it’s no use to do that,” said Mr. Marvel, whose memory began to be a little more active. “I’ll give you a hundred dollars, and say no more about it; that is enough, in all conscience.”

“I can’t do any such thing, Mr. Marvel. I have charged you what was right, and can take nothing off. What would you think of a man who had made a bill at your store of one hundred and fifty dollars, if he were to offer you one hundred when he came to pay, and ask for a receipt in full?”

“But that a’n’t to the point.”

“A’n’t it, though? I should like to hear of a case more applicable. But it’s no use to multiply words about the matter. My bill is correct, and I cannot take a dollar off of it.”

“It’s the last bill you ever make out of me, remember that, doctor!” said Mr. Marvel, rising, and leaving the office in a state of angry excitement.

“Well, what does he say?” asked Mrs. Marvel, who had waited for her husband’s return with some interest.

“He tried to beat me down that the bill was all right; but I’m too old a child for that. Why, would you believe it?–he has charged five dollars for every night-visit.”

“That’s no better than highway robbery.”

“Not a bit. But it’s the last money he ever gets out of me.”

“I’d never call him in, I know. He must think we’re made of money.”

“Oh, I suppose we’re the first family he’s had who wasn’t poor, and he wanted to dig as deep as possible. I hate such swindling, and if it wasn’t for having a fuss I’d never pay him a dollar.”

“He’s charged us for every poor family in the neighbourhood, I suppose.”

“No doubt of it. I’ve heard of these tricks before; but it’s the last time I’ll submit to have them played off upon me.”

The visit of Mr. Marvel somewhat discomposed the feelings of Dr. Elton, and he had begun to moralize upon the unthankful position he held in the community, when he was aroused from his reverie by the entrance of a servant from one of the principal hotels, with a summons to attend immediately a young lady who was thought to be exceedingly ill.

“Who is she?” asked the doctor.

“She is the daughter of Mr. Smith, a merchant from the East.”

“Is any one with her?”

“Yes, her father.”

“Tell him I will be there immediately.”

In the course of fifteen minutes Dr. Elton’s carriage drove up to the door of the hotel. He found his patient to be a young lady of about seventeen, accompanied by her father, a middle-aged man, whose feelings were much, and anxiously excited.

At a glance, his practised eye detected symptoms of a serious nature, and a closer examination of the case convinced him that all his skill would be called into requisition. With a hot, dry skin, slightly flushed face, parched lips, and slimy, furred tongue, there was a dejection, languor, and slight indication of delirium–and much apparent confusion of mind. Prescribing as he thought the case required, he left the room, accompanied with the father.

“Well, doctor, what do you think of her?” said Mr. Smith, with a heavy, oppressed expiration.

“She is ill, sir, and will require attention.”

“But, doctor, you don’t think my child dangerous, do you?” said the father with an alarmed manner.

“It is right that you should know, sir, that your daughter is, to all appearance, threatened with the typhus fever. But I don’t think there is any cause for alarm, only for great care in her physician and attendants.”

“O doctor, can I trust her in your hands? But I am foolish; I know that there is no one in this city of more acknowledged skill than yourself. You must pardon a father’s fears. Spare no attentions, doctor–visit her at least twice every day, and you shall be well paid for your attentions. Save my child for me, and I will owe you eternal gratitude.”