CHAPTER XCV.
IN WHICH DOCTOR PELL DECLINES A FEE, AND DOCTOR STURK A PRESCRIPTION.
In entering the front parlour from whence, in no small excitement, there issued the notes of a course diapason, which he fancied was known to him, he found Mr.Justice Lowe in somewhat tempestuous conference with the visitor.
He was, in fact, no other than Black Dillon; black enough he looked just now.

He had only a moment before returned from a barren visit to the Brass Castle, and was in no mood to be trifled with.
''Twasn't _I_, Sir, but Mr.Dangerfield, who promised you five hundred guineas,' said Mr.Lowe, with a dry nonchalance.
'Five hundred fiddles,' retorted Doctor Dillon--his phrase was coarser, and Toole at that moment entering the door, and divining the situation from the doctor's famished glare and wild gestures, exploded, I'm sorry to say in a momentary burst of laughter, into his cocked hat.

'Twas instantly stifled, however; and when Dillon turned his flaming eyes upon him, the little doctor made him a bow of superlative gravity, which the furious hero of the trepan was too full of his wrongs to notice in any way.
'I was down at his house, bedad, the "Brass Castle," if you plase, and not a brass farthin' for my pains, nothing there but an ould woman, as ould and as ugly as himself, or the divil--be gannies! An' he's levanted, or else tuck for debt.

Brass Castle! brass _forehead_, bedad.
Brass, like Goliath, from head to heels; an' by the heels he's laid, I'll take my davy, considherin' at his laysure which is strongest--a brass castle or a stone jug.

An' where, Sir, am I to get my five hundred guineas--where, Sir ?' he thundered, staring first in Lowe's face, then in Toole's, and dealing the table a lusty blow at each interrogatory.
'I think, Sir,' said Lowe, anticipating Toole, 'you'd do well to consider the sick man, Sir.' The noise was certainly considerable.
'I don't know, Sir, that the sick man's considherin' me much,' retorted Doctor Dillon.