Mr. Liston and the Doctor

Yes, Mr. Liston presumed there would be a crowd. It was very natural
there should be, particularly as the deceased was greatly beloved and
was also reputed wealthy, "It beats all what a difference it makes, even
after death, whether one is supposed to be rich or poor," and the codger
worked away industriously at the pine stick he was whittling.

"But in this case the supposition of riches must be correct, though I
know people are oftener overvalued than otherwise," and with his
gold-headed cane the doctor thrust at a dandelion growing near.

"Nothing truer than that," returned the whittler, brushing the litter
from his lap. "Now I've no doubt that prig of a doctor, who they say is
shining up to Alice, will be disappointed when he finds just how much
she's worth. Let me see. What is his name? Lives up there," and with his
jackknife Mr. Liston pointed toward Terrace Hill.

"The Richards family live there, sir. You mean their son, I presume."

"Ted, the chap that has traveled and come home so changed. They do say
he's actually taken to visiting all the rheumatic old women in town,
applying sticking-plasters to their backs and administering squills to
their children, all free gratis."

Poor doctor! How he fidgeted, moving so often that his tormentor
demurely asked him if he were sitting on a thistle or what!

"Does Miss Johnson remain here?" the doctor asked at last, and Mr.
Liston replied by telling what he knew of the arrangements.