came across the doctor, who was taking his first sniff of the morning air. He was a young man from the West of Ireland—a tremendous fellow, with black hair and blue eyes, already inclined to be stout; he had a happy-go-lucky, healthy look about him which was rather attractive. "Fine morning," I remarked, by way of introduction. "Well," said he, eying me with an air of ready interest, "it's a fine morning and it's not a fine morning. I don't think it's much of a morning." "Well, no—it is not so very fine," said I. "It's just what I call fuggly weather," replied the doctor.
