taken place; the result of that consultation would be conveyed to
him.

"And pray, why can't I be present at the consultation? The grounds on
which two able men agree or disagree must be well worth listening to."

"No doubt," said Dr. Snell; "but," with a superior smile, "my dear sir,
it is not the etiquette."

"Oh, very well," said Lusignan. But he muttered, "So, then, a father is
nobody!"

And this unreasonable person retired to his study, miserable, and gave
up the dining-room to the consultation.

They soon rejoined him.

Dr. Snell's opinion was communicated by Wyman. "I am happy to tell you
that Dr. Snell agrees with me, entirely: the lungs are not affected, and
the liver is congested, but not diseased."

"Is that so, Dr. Snell?" asked Lusignan, anxiously.

"It is so, sir." He added, "The treatment has been submitted to me, and
I quite approve it."

He then asked for a pen and paper, and wrote a prescription. He assured
Mr. Lusignan that the case had no extraordinary feature, whatever; he
was not to alarm himself. Dr. Snell then drove away, leaving the parent
rather puzzled, but, on the whole, much comforted.

And here I must reveal an extraordinary circumstance.

Wyman's treatment was by drugs.

Dr. Snell's was by drugs.

Dr. Snell, as you have seen, entirely approved Wyman's treatment.

His own had nothing in common with it. The Arctic and Antarctic poles
are not farther apart than was his prescription from the prescription he
thoroughly approved.

Amiable science! In which complete diversity of practice did not
interfere with perfect uniformity of opinion.

All this was kept from Dr. Staines, and he was entirely occupied in
trying to get a position that might lead to fortune, and satisfy Mr.
Lusignan. He called on every friend he had, to inquire where there was
an opening. He walked miles and miles in the best quarters of London,
looking for an opening; he let it be known in many quarters that he
would give a good premium to any physician who was about to retire, and
would introduce him to his patients.

No: he could hear of nothing.

Then, after a great struggle with himself, he called upon his uncle,
Philip Staines, a retired M.D., to see if he would do anything for him.
He left this to the last, for a very good reason: Dr. Philip was an
irritable old bachelor, who had assisted most of his married relatives;
but, finding no bottom to the well, had turned rusty and crusty, and now
was ap