ing when this lady got to sleep an hour after.

CHAPTER XXVI

A PROFESSIONAL CONSULTATION ACROSS A COUNTER, AND HOW THE STORY OF
THE MAN IN HYDE PARK WAS TOLD BY DOLLY. HOW AUNT M'RIAR KNEW THE
NAME WAS NOT "DARRABLE." HOW SHE TOLD UNCLE MO WHOSE WIFE SHE WAS
AND WHOSE MOTHER MRS. PRITCHARD WAS. HOW POLLY DAVERILL JUNIOR HAD
DIED UNBAPTIZED, AND ATTEMPTS TO BULLY THE DEVIL ARE FUTILE. HOW
HER MOTHER WAS FORMERLY BARMAID AT THE ONE TUN, BUT BECAME AUNT
M'RIAR LATER, AND HOW THE TALLOW CANDLE JUST LASTED OUT. HOW DOLLY,
VERY SOUND ASLEEP, WAS GOOD FOR HER AUNT

"I shouldn't take any violent exercise, if I was you, Mr. Wardle," said
Mr. Ekings, the Apothecary, whose name you may remember Michael
Ragstroar had borrowed and been obliged to relinquish. "I should be very
careful what I ate, avoiding especially pork and richly cooked food. A
diet of fowls and fish--preferably boiled...."

"Can't abide 'em!" said Uncle Moses, who was talking over his symptoms
with Mr. Ekings at his shop, with Dolly on his knee. "And whose a-going
to stand Sam for me, livin' on this and livin' on that? Roasted
chicking's very pretty eating, for the sake of the soarsages, when
you're a Lord Mayor; but for them as don't easy run to half-crowns for
mouthfuls, a line has to be drawed. Down our Court a shilling has to go
a long way, Dr. Ekings."

The medical adviser shook his head weakly. "You're an intractable
patient, Mr. Moses," he said. He knew that Uncle Moses's circumstances
were what is called moderate. So are a church mouse's; and, in both
cases, the dietary is compulsory. Mr. Ekings tried for a common ground
of agreement. "Fish doesn't mount up to much, by the pound," he said,
vaguely.

"Fishes don't go home like butcher's meat," said Uncle Moses.

"You can't expect 'em to do that," said Mr. Ekings, glad of an
indisputable truth. "But there's a vast amount of nourishment in 'em,
anyway you put it."

"So there is, Dr. Ekings. In a vast amount of 'em. But you have to eat
it all up. Similar, grass and cows. Only there's no bones in the grass.
Now, you know, what I'm wanting is a pick-me-up--something with a nice
clean edge in the smell of it, like a bottle o' salts with holes in the
stopper. And tasting of lemons. I ain't speaking of the sort that has to
be shook when took. Nor yet with peppermint. It's a clear sort to see
through, up against the light, what I want."

Mr. Ekings, a humbl