a decided
resemblance between Mr. Walkingshaw's portly gait and Andrew's dignified
carriage, but otherwise they were not much alike. The father had a large
and open countenance, very ruddy and fringed with the most respectable
white whiskers; and something ample in his voice and eye and manner
accorded with it admirably. Andrew's face also was full, but rather in
places than comprehensively. The chief places were his cheeks and upper
lip. This lip was perhaps his most striking characteristic. It was both
full and long, meeting his cheeks at either end in a little dimple, and
protruding above the lower lip. Beneath it his chin sloped sharply back
and then abruptly shot forward again in the shape of a round aggressive
little ball. His eye was cold and gray, his hair dark, his age
six-and-thirty, and for the last few years he had been his father's
partner. He was the first to break the silence.

"Why you don't see a respectable doctor, I can't imagine," said he.

"I went to Mackenzie. I went to Grant," replied Mr. Walkingshaw shortly.
"A lot of good either of them did my gout!"

"Gout!" said Andrew. "And have you exchanged that for anything better?
You ought to have stayed in bed to-day. I wonder you ventured out in the
state that man's got you into."

The words might conceivably be taken to represent a very natural filial
anxiety, but the voice was reminiscent of the consolation of Job. Mr.
Walkingshaw had always been able to inspire his children with a respect
so profound that it was a little difficult at times to distinguish it
from awe. Even Andrew when he became his partner had not lost the
attitude. But to-day his father accepted the rebuke without a murmur. In
a moment the hard Scotch voice smote again--

"The idea of a man in your position going to an infernal quack like
Professor Cyrus! Professor? Humph! The man's killing you."

Mr. Walkingshaw's ruddy face grew redder. The standard of common sense
is high in Scotland; the humiliation in being taken in profound; the
respect for the professional orthodoxies intense. And he had been the
protagonist of everything sensible, orthodox, and prudent! He felt like
a constable caught in the pantry.

"Cyrus is a man of remarkable--ah--ideas. He assures me I shall see the
beneficial effects soon. Patience--patience; that is what he says.
I--ah--have probably only caught a little chill. I believe in Cyrus,
Andrew, I believe in him."

Andrew received the explanation wi