al acquaintanceship. But I sincerely hope that you
will let me see more of you--er--that is, if I am not troublesome to
you; such a wearisome old bookworm as I fear I must be. But the mouse
helped the lion, you know, and who knows but what I may be able to help
you with some information about your friends next door--let me see, I
think you said it was the people next door whom you had been trying to
find."

"I did not say so," said Chester, quietly.

"I beg your pardon; but you do wish to know something about them."

"Well, frankly, yes, I do," said Chester.

"Hah! And who knows but what I may be able to help you? I may remember
something that does not occur to me now--a trifle or two perhaps, but
which may be of importance from your point of view. Come and see me
sometimes. Let me show you my library. I think you might be interested
in some of my books."

"I have no doubt but that I should be."

"To be sure, yes. I have an old copy of Hippocrates on surgery and
medicine, and I daresay many others which do not occur to me now. Yes,
of course, I have Boerhaave. You will come?"

"I shall be very glad to," said Chester, warmly, though his conscience
smote him for what he felt to be a false pretence.

"I am very, very glad," said the old man, rising, going to an old
cabinet and pulling out a drawer, from which he took a key and at the
same time something short and black which he cleverly thrust into the
breast of his loosely-made, old-fashioned tail-coat. "Now I am about to
ask a favour of you, doctor," he said, turning with a pleasant, genial
smile upon his countenance. "I have other treasures here down below,
besides books. Stored up and rarely brought out, bin after bin of very
fine old wine. I am going to ask you to drink a glass of exceedingly
old port with me."

"No, no," said Chester, "you must excuse me. I never drink wine at this
time of day. Let me dine with you some time or other, and then--"

"Yes, of course, my dear young friend; I hope many times; but just one
glass now. Don't say no. I feel to need it a little myself, for--don't
think me a feeble old dotard--the fact of telling you of my weakness, of
confessing to a doctor my fears of coming to an end, have upset my
nerves a little, and I can't help fancying that a glass of good old wine
would do me good."

"I am sure it would, sir," said Chester, warmly. "Well, there! I will
break a rule, and join you in one glass."

"Hah!"