In face, the Major was florid and what people call healthy-looking, an appearance that to a doctor's eye very often conveys no assurance of physical well-being.

Being a genial-mannered man, he would fall into conversation with whoever might be near to him, and thus I came to be slightly acquainted with him.

In the course of our chats he frequently mentioned his ailments, which, as might be expected in the case of such a luxurious liver, were gouty in their origin.
One afternoon when I was sitting alone in the smoking-room, Major Selby came in and limped to an armchair.
"Hullo, Major, have you got the gout again ?" I asked jocosely.
"No, doctor; at least that pompous old beggar, Bell, says I haven't.
My leg has been so confoundedly painful and stiff for the last few days that I went to see him this morning, but he told me that it was only a touch of rheumatism, and gave me some stuff to rub it with." "Oh, and did he look at your leg ?" "Not he.

He says that he can tell what my ailments are with the width of the street between us." "Indeed," I said, and some other men coming in the matter dropped.
Four days later I was in the club at the same hour, and again Major Selby entered.

This time he walked with considerable difficulty, and I noticed an expression of pain and _malaise_ upon his rubicund countenance.