ould not have disgraced a medico celebrated for his
"good bedside manner," commenced to examine the prostrate man. First, he
unbuttoned the insensible digger's waistcoat, and placed his hand over
his heart; next, he felt his pulse. "This man," he said deliberately,
like an oracle, "has been grossly manhandled; he is seriously injured,
but with care we shall pull him round. My dear"--to Gentle Annie, who
stood at his elbow, in her silks and jewels, the personification of
Folly at a funeral--"a drop of your very best brandy--real cognac, mind
you, and be as quick as you possibly can."

With the help of Scarlett, Tresco placed the digger upon the couch. In
the midst of this operation the big card-player and his attenuated
accomplice, whose unconsciousness had been more feigned than actual,
were about to slip from the room, when Mr. Crewe's voice was heard
loudly above the chatter, "Stop! stop those men, there!" The old
gentleman's stick was pointed dramatically towards the retreating
figures. "They know more about this affair than is good for them."

Four or five men immediately seized Garsett and Lichfield, led them back
to the centre of the room, and stood guard over them.

At this moment, Gentle Annie re-entered with the _eau de vie_; and
Tresco, who was bustling importantly about his patient, administrated
the restorative dexterously to the unconscious digger, and then awaited
results. He stood, with one hand on the man's forehead and the other he
held free to gesticulate with, in emphasis of his speech:--

"This gentleman is going to recover--with proper care, and in skilled
hands. He has received a severe contusion on the cranium, but apart from
that he is not much the worse for his 'scrap.' See, he opens his eyes.
Ah! they are closed again. There!--they open again. He is coming round.
In a few minutes he will be his old, breathing, pulsating self. The
least that can be expected in the circumstances, is that the gentlemen
implicated, who have thus been saved most disagreeable consequences by
the timely interference of skilled hands, the least they can do is to
shout drinks for the crowd."

He paused, and a seraphic smile lighted his broad face.

"Hear, hear!" cried a voice from behind the spectators by the door.

"Just what the doctor ordered," said another.

"There's enough money on the floor," remarked a third, "for the whole
lot of us to swim in champagne."

"My eye's on it," said Tresco. "It's what gave