At six o'clock he would have to take his legs off that chair, and get into a frock-coat; once in the frock-coat he would become another man, all patience and politeness.

After six there would be no pipe and no peace for him, but the knocking and ringing at his front door would go on incessantly till seven-thirty.

There was flattery in every knock, for it meant that Dr.Cautley was growing eminent, and that at the ridiculously early age of nine-and-twenty.
There was a sharp ring now.

He turned wearily in his chairs.
"There's another damned patient," said Dr.Cautley.
He was really so eminent that he could afford to think blasphemously of patients; and he had no love for those who came to consult him before their time.

He sat up with his irritable nerves on edge.