pleasant place, where ladies are admitted to lunch,
and I used it a good deal in the hope of making acquaintances who might
be useful to me. Among the _habitues_ of this club was a certain Major
Selby, who, having retired from the army and being without occupation,
was generally to be found in the smoking or billiard room with a large
cigar between his teeth and a whisky and soda at his side. In face, the
Major was florid and what people call healthy-looking, an appearance
that to a doctor's eye very often conveys no assurance of physical
well-being. Being a genial-mannered man, he would fall into conversation
with whoever might be near to him, and thus I came to be slightly
acquainted with him. In the course of our chats he frequently mentioned
his ailments, which, as might be expected in the case of such a
luxurious liver, were gouty in their origin.

One afternoon when I was sitting alone in the smoking-room, Major Selby
came in and limped to an armchair.

"Hullo, Major, have you got the gout again?" I asked jocosely.

"No, doctor; at least that pompous old beggar, Bell, says I haven't.
My leg has been so confoundedly painful and stiff for the last few days
that I went to see him this morning, but he told me that it was only a
touch of rheumatism, and gave me some stuff to rub it with."

"Oh, and did he look at your leg?"

"Not he. He says that he can tell what my ailments are with the width of
the street between us."

"Indeed," I said, and some other men coming in the matter dropped.

Four days later I was in the club at the same hour, and again Major
Selby entered. This time he walked with considerable difficulty, and
I noticed an expression of pain and _malaise_ upon his rubicund
countenance. He ordered a whisky and soda from the servant, and then sat
down near me.

"Rheumatism no better, Major?" I asked.

"No, I went to see old Bell about it again yesterday, but he pooh-poohs
it and tells me to go on rubbing in the liniment and get the footman to
help when I am tired. Well, I obeyed orders, but it hasn't done me much
good, and how the deuce rheumatism can give a fellow a bruise on the
leg, I don't know."

"A bruise on the leg?" I said astonished.

"Yes, a bruise on the leg, and, if you don't believe me, look here,"
and, dragging up his trouser, he showed me below the knee a large
inflamed patch of a dusky hue, in the centre of which one of the veins
could be felt to be hard and swollen.

"Has Sir