ii4 AN ANGLER'S HOURS vn 



cold day, clad only in his blue jersey, patched 

 trousers, and rubber boots, as hale and 

 hearty as can be. 



Only once have I known him to be 

 ill. I met him outside his favourite house 

 of call looking thoughtful and somewhat 

 troubled. Questioned as to the reason 

 of his dejection, he complained somewhat 

 bitterly that the doctor had knocked him 

 off his beer. I inquired why, and Old 

 Billy said that the doctor had called it 

 pneumonia ; had prescribed bed and simple 

 fare, and generally trampled heedlessly on 

 all the patient's convictions. He had even 

 said that Old Billy would die if he did not 

 obey orders. I strongly advised him to 

 fall in with the doctor's views if he could 

 see his way to do so, and to soften the un- 

 pleasing counsel gave him something for 

 luxuries. He said he would think about it, 

 and so soon as I was out of sight proceeded 

 to do so, in the public-house. He con- 

 sumed a regal quantity of his favourite 

 beverage, and apparently drove out the 

 pneumonia. Since then he has had the 

 poorest opinion of the medical profession. 



" He's under, master," says Old Billy 



