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Positively he shook hands for a third time. Confound the fellow! I had merely hinted that my patients, or the most of them, were of good social position, and had offered him board and lodging, with a salary of forty pounds, rising five pounds annually.

“And by Heavens!” he exclaimed, spinning round on his heel at a sound of hasty footsteps crossing the square, “here comes fresh confirmation! A black manservant–and, as I live, in a gold-laced hat! Of such things I have read in books, but how much livelier, Dr. Frampton, is the ocular appeal of reality!”

It was, to be sure, Major Dignum’s black valet Gumbo, and with a note for me. The fellow’s disordered dress and quick breathing spoke of urgency, and I broke the seal at once, wondering the while what could have befallen the Major, a retired and gouty West Indian whom I had been visiting daily for three months at his apartments in the Grand Pump Hotel. The missive ran:–

“My dear Dr. Frampton,–As a friend rather than a patient, I beg you to come to me without delay! Pray ask no questions of Gumbo, who knows nothing. You will need no spurring when I tell you that though in no worse than my usual health, a few hours may see me in eternity.

Confidently yours,
Orlando Dignum (Major).”

I folded the letter, and nodded to Gumbo. “Tell your master that I will delay only to shave and dress before calling on him.”

The faithful fellow had been watching me anxiously. “In the name of goodness, doctor, ain’t you going to tell me what’s wrong?”

“I know as little as you,” said I. “But, whatever it is, the Major thinks it serious; so run, my man, and say that I am following.”

With something like a groan, Gumbo started off, and I turned to Mr. MacRea. “You will find a cup of coffee in your room,” I said. “I must attend to this sudden call; but possibly by the time you have washed and changed, I may be free to rejoin you at breakfast, when we can talk at leisure.”

The young man had caught up his valise, but set it down again and laid three fingers on my sleeve. “You speak of a change of clothes, sir. I will be frank with you–these breeches in which you behold me are my only ones. They were a present from my mother’s sister, resident in Paisley, and I misdoubt there will have been something amiss in her instructions to the tailor, for they gall me woundily– though in justice to her and the honest tradesman I should add that my legs, maybe, are out of practice since leaving Glasgow. At Largs, sir, I have been reverting to the ancestral garb.”

“You’ll wear no such thing about the Hotwells,” I interposed.

“Indeed, I was not thinking it likely. My purpose was to procure another pair on my arrival–aye, and I would do so before breaking fast, had not circumstances which I will not detain you by relating put this for the moment out of the question. Do not mistake me, Dr. Frampton. In public I will thole these dreadful articles, though it cost me my skin; but in private, sir, if as a favour you will allow me–if, as a bachelor yourself, you will take it sans gene. And, by-the-by, I trust you will not scruple to point out any small defects in my French accent, which has been acquired entirely from books.”

He had, in fact, pronounced it “jeen,” but I put this by. “Quite impossible, Mr. MacRea! I have to think of the servants.”

“Eh? You have servants!”

“Four or five,” said I.

His eyes seemed ready to start out of his head. “I had opined by the way you opened the door with your own hand–” He broke off, and exclaimed: “Four or five servants! It will be a grand practice of yours! Well, go your ways, Dr. Frampton–I must e’en study to live up to you.”