There's my story, sir, and a poor one enough it is,--for the dear old man, at least." And Tom's voice trembled so as he told it, that old Heale believed every word, and, what is more, being--like most hard drinkers--not "unused to the melting mood," wiped his eyes fervently, and went off for another drop of comfort; while Tom dusted and arranged on, till the shop began to look quite smart and business-like.
"Now, sir!"-- when the old man came back--"business is business, and beggars must not be choosers.

I don't want to meddle with your practice; I know the rules of the profession: but if you'll let me sit here and mix your medicines for you, you'll have the more time to visit your patients, that's clear,"-- and, perhaps (thought he), to drink your brandy-and-water,--"and when any of them are poisoned by me, it will be time to kick me out.

All I ask is, bed and board.

Don't be frightened for your spirit-bottle, I can drink water; I've done it many a time, for a week together, in the prairies, and been thankful for a half-pint in the day." "But, sir, your dignity as a--" "Fiddlesticks for dignity; I must live, sir.

Only lend me a couple of sheets of paper and two queen's heads, that I may tell my friends my whereabouts,--and go and talk it over with Mrs.Heale.We must never act without consulting the ladies." That day Tom sent off the following epistle:-- "_To_ CHARLES SHUTER, Esq., M.D, _St.Mumpsimus's Hospital, London_.
"DEAR CHARLEY-- "'I do adjure thee, by old pleasant days, Quartier Latin, and neatly-shod grisettes By all our wanderings in quaint by-ways, By ancient frolics, and by ancient debts,' "Go to the United Bank of Australia forthwith, and stop the notes whose numbers--all, alas! which I can recollect--are enclosed.