"We'll go and look him out."
They did so, but the medical rolls contained no such name as that of Dr.
Proudie, of Bread Street.
"Pretty villainy this!" cried the Admiral, thumping his chest. "A dummy
doctor and a vamped up disease. Well, we've tried the rogues,
Westmacott! Let us see what we can do with your honest man."
----
CHAPTER XIV.
EASTWARD HO!
Mr. McAdam, of the firm of McAdam and Squire, was a highly polished man
who dwelt behind a highly polished table in the neatest and snuggest of
offices. He was white-haired and amiable, with a deep-lined aquiline
face, was addicted to low bows, and indeed, always seemed to carry
himself at half-cock, as though just descending into one, or just
recovering himself. He wore a high-buckled stock, took snuff, and
adorned his conversation with little scraps from the classics.
"My dear Sir," said he, when he had listened to their story, "any friend
of Mrs. Westmacott's is a friend of mine. Try a pinch. I wonder that
you should have gone to this man Metaxa. His advertisement is enough to
condemn him. Habet foenum in cornu. They are all rogues."
"The doctor was a rogue too. I didn't like the look of him at the
time.
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