"How's that, Umpire?" said he: then, a little sternly, "Don't do
that again, Mr. Maxley, or I shall have to give you a hiding--to keep up
appearances. He then put the notes in his pocket, and said quietly, _"I_
shall give you your money for these before the year ends."
"You won't be quite so mad as that, I hope," remonstrated his father. But
he made no reply: they very seldom answered one another now.
"Oh," said Dr. Wycherley, inspecting him like a human curiosity, "nullum
magnum ingenium sine mixtura dementiae."
"Nec parvum sine mixtura stultitiae," retorted Alfred in a moment and met
his offensive gaze with a point-blank look of supercilious disdain.
Then having shut him up, he turned to Osmond: "Come," said he, "prescribe
for this poor fellow, who asks for a hospital, so Routine gives him a
workhouse. Come, you know there is no limit to your skill and good
nature: you cured Spot of the worms, cure poor old Maxley of his snakes:
oblige me."
"That I will, Mr. Alfred," said Osmond heartily: and wrote a prescription
on a leaf of his memorandum-book, remarking that though a simple
purgative, it had made short work of a great many serpents and dragons,
and not a few spectres and hobgoblins into the bargain.
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