Old Matt did not wake again for many hours, but, as the days slipped by,
he partook with avidity of all that was allowed him, and grumbled for
more. His friend the house-surgeon, whom he could look at now without
imagining that he took notes inimical to his friend Septimus Hardon's
interest, reported favourably of his condition; while Septimus himself
came again and again, each time more eager to get at that which was
hidden by the confusion in old Matt's brain.
"If he had only been so jolly anxious about the Somesham affair, first
start off, what a difference it would have made!" grumbled Matt.
But it seemed useless to try and draw the old man's attention to things
he had talked of in the days shortly before his entry of the hospital,
for here all seemed blank.
"Well, yes, sir," Matt would say, "I have some faint recollection of
saying something about medicine and attendance; but do you know, sir, I
begin to think that one's memory is in one's blood? and they took so
much out of me that last time, that I can't remember anything at all.
`Medicine and attendance,' did I say? Why, it must have been the
medicine and attendance here, and those old cats of nurses. My thinking
apparatus is terribly out of order, sir; and when I try to look back at
anything, it's like peeping at it through a dirty window. P'r'aps it
won't come bright and clean again, eh?"
"Don't try to think," said Septimus with a sigh. "You will recollect
some day; so let it rest."
"Well, sir, that's just what I should like to do; but since you've asked
me, I can't; for things won't go just as I like, and I feel all in a
muddle. Let's see, now: you said something about this at your last
visit, didn't you, sir? when I asked you about that talking woman and
the office for servants; for I do recollect that, you know."
"Yes," replied Septimus, "at every visit."
"Just so," said Matt; "I thought you did; but I can't tell a bit about
it now. Sometimes it seems that I heard it; sometimes that I read it,
or saw it against a wall, or dancing before my eyes; but let's see," he
said vacantly, as he held his hand to his head, "what was it we wanted
to find?"
"The doctor's books, or the doctor," said Septimus.
"To be sure," said the old man; "I haven't got it right yet; and really
you know, sir, this isn't a first-class place to get right in, and they
won't part with me yet, though I do long now to be well, and at liberty
for a peep at the old law-courts and Lincoln's-inn once more. I mean to
have a holiday, and spend it among all the posts in the old square as
soon as I'm out; I'm getting so light-hearted and jolly, sir. Why, it
will be quite a treat to be somewhere amongst a bit or two of dirt once
more; we're so clean here."
"Only a little longer, Matt," said Septimus smiling.
"You see," said Matt, "there's so much to upset one about. What with
the screen round this bed, and the screen round that bed, and the groans
and sighs, ah, and even shouts sometimes, there's plenty to make a poor
fellow feel low-spirited. Now there's a chap over there in that bed
seems to have taken it into his head that he suffers more than anyone
who ever came into the place, and howls and goes on terribly; while the
bigger and stronger people are, sir, the more weak they seem to me to be
in bearing pain. I believe, after all, you know, sir, that the little
weak women beat us hollow."
"Ah!" said the patient spoken of, surmising from Matt's gestures that he
was being referred to--"ah! Mr Space, you are talking about me, sir,
and my groans, and it's very hard and unfeeling, sir. You may suffer
yourself some day."
The visitor felt uncomfortable; but old Matt took it up directly.
"That's cool, anyhow," he gasped; "why, what do you mean? haven't I
suffered as much as any of you, and been through two operations, and
lived 'em out too? Why, what more would you have? It would have killed
a big fellow like you, I know."
The patient replied with a groan, and began muttering about the
unfeeling behaviour of those about him, from whom, he said, he had
expected a little sympathy.
This roused the ire of a neighbour who had lost a leg through being run
over by a coal-wagon, and he now took up the matter, followed by several
others; so that a wordy warfare seemed imminent.
"That's it, go on," growled Matt in an undertone. "They're all getting
better, sir; and, consequently, they're as cross as two sticks. What a
thing it is! There seems to be no gratitude amongst them; and really,
sir, if it wasn't for the nurses, it wouldn't be such a bad place to
come to--that is, for a man with strong nerves, you know. Now just look
at 'em, how they are going it!"
The murmurings and dissensions of the other patients seemed to have
quite a good effect upon old Matt, who forgot his own pains in the
troubles of those around him.
"You don't know how much longer you will be here?" said Septimus.
"Not for certain, sir; but I think only for a few more days. But it's
wonderful what a difference they have made in me. I mean to go in for a
fortune, sir, as soon as I'm out; and then I shall make my will, and
leave half to the hospital. Now I've got the worst of it all over, I
amuse myself with taking a bit of notice of what goes on around me, and
listening to what's said; and it's wonderful what an amount of misery
comes into this place--wonderful. I've known of more trouble since I've
been in here, sir, than I should have thought there had been in the
whole of London; and that's saying no little, sir. Lots die, you know;
but then see how many they send out cured. I don't see all, but one
hears so much from the talking of the nurses. I expected when I came
here that there would be plenty of accidents, broken bones--legs, arms,
and ribs, and so on; but there, bless you, the place is full of it; and
they're getting to such a wonderful pitch now, with their doctoring and
surgery, that they'll be making a new man next, out of the odd bits they
always have on hand here."
"I suppose so," said Septimus drily.
"Ah, you may laugh, sir," said Matt; "but it's wonderful to what a pitch
surgery has got. Now, for instance, just fancy--"
"There," cried Septimus, "pray stop, or I must leave you. I fancy quite
enough involuntarily, without wishing to hear fresh horrors. It's bad
enough having to come into the place."
"Lor' bless you, sir," said Matt, "you should listen to the nurses, when
one of 'em happens to be in a good humour. Do you know when that is,
sir?"
"When pleased, I suppose," said Septimus.
"Just so, sir; the very time. And when do you suppose that last is?"
Septimus shook his head.
"You don't know, of course, sir. Why, when the patients are getting
better."
"I might have supposed that," said Septimus wearily.
The old man chuckled, and looked brighter than he had looked for weeks.
"Yes," he said, "it's when the patients are getting better, and there's
plenty of port-wine and gin on the way. That's the time to find the
nurse in a good humour; and she'll tell you anything, or do anything for
you."
Septimus Hardon looked weary and anxious, and fidgeted in his chair, as
if he longed to change the conversation, but the garrulous old man kept
on.
"Tell you what, sir, these nurses seem to get their hearts hardened and
crusted over; and then when you give them a little alcohol, as the
teetotallers call it, the crust gets softened a bit, and things go
better. I used to growl and go on terribly at first; but it's no use to
swim against the stream. I used to grumble when I found that they drunk
half my wine and watered my gin; but I'm used to that sort of thing now:
for which is best--to drink all one's liquor, or keep friends with the
nurse? Last's best; and they say I'm a dear patient old creature. I
look it too, don't I?" said the old man with a grim smile.
"But," said Septimus, "I must soon go; and I should like a word or two
about my affairs first."
"All right, sir; we'll come to that directly. I'm an invalid, and you
must humour me. But this is the way of it. My nurse comes to me, like
an old foxey vixen as she is, and--`Now, my dear, how are we?' she says.
`Only middling, nurse,' I say. `I've brought you a glass of wine to
cheer you up,' she says. `Don't care about it a bit,' I say; `don't
feel wine-hungry.' `O,' she says, `but the doctor ordered it. Now,
take it, like a good soul. You must want it.' `Not half so bad as some
people do,' I say. `Toss it off, nurse; and just punch my pillow up a
bit, it's got hard and hot.' `Bless my heart, no,' she says, `I
couldn't think of such a thing!' so she sets the wine down, and puts my
head a bit comfortable. `The wine's for you; so, now, take it directly;
I couldn't touch it--I don't care for wine.'
"`Of course you don't,' I say to myself; and then I begin to talk to her
a bit, and to tell her that she must have a sad wearing life of it, when
the old tabby sets up her back and purrs, and likes it all--looking the
while as tigerish, and sleek, and clawey, as the old cats can look.
Then I tell her she wants more support, and so on, when all at once she
finds out that there's some one else to attend upon, and I must drink my
wine directly; so I take the glass and perhaps drink it; but more often
I only just put it to my lips and set it back upon the tray, when she's
satisfied. Of course, you know, it would be instant dismissal for a
nurse to drink a patient's wine or spirits if it was known; but any
thing left is different altogether. You know, sir, it's a dreadfully
beggarly way of going to work, only as the saying goes, you must fight
some one we know of with his own weapons: and now we are the very best
of friends possible. You'd be surprised how we get along, and all
through going without a glass now and then. The best of it is, though,
that she never thinks of watering it now, like she would for another
patient; so that what I miss in quantity I get in strength, and, you
know, she'll do anything for me in a minute--that is, if she feels
disposed."
"But," said Septimus, "it seems strange that you should be so left at
the mercy of these women."
"What can you do?" said the old man.--"There, I 've just done, sir, and
we'll go into that directly.--Who can you get to go through what these
women do, unless it's these Sisters of Mercy, who many say are to become
general? Suppose there was a strike, eh? Look how few people you can
get to come and run the risk of fevers and all sorts of diseases.
Sisters of Mercy, eh? God bless them for it then, if they will; but I
hope I may never want their help, all the same. But there, we won't
talk about it, only you want iron women a'most to go through it all, and
it's not a life to be envied. Why, if it ain't almost leaving-time,
sir, and you've kept me chatting about my affairs here, and yours are
nowhere. How are you getting on?"
"Badly, Matt, badly. But I've very little to say, Matt, for I was
unable to get on without you," replied Septimus, smiling at the old
man's coolness.
"'Spose so," said Matt laconically; "let's see, sir, I think you never
went any more to Finsbury?"
"Where was the use," said Septimus drearily; "who can tell where a
day-book fifty years old can be?"
"True," said the old man thoughtfully; "butter-shop, most likely; and it
wouldn't pay to go all over London buying half-pounds of `best Dorset,'
on the chance of getting the right sheet. I can't see it yet, sir; and
still I seem to fancy we shall do it, though everything about it seems
to be all in a muddle."
Septimus Hardon seemed to be of the same opinion, for he sighed, took
his hat, and went homeward in a frame of mind that made him feel
disposed to bury the past and its cares, and look only to the future;
while old Matt picked up a newspaper, and began mechanically folding it
into small squares--butter-shop size.
"No," he muttered, "not much chance of finding that particular scrap of
paper, if we don't get hold of the book through the old doctor's heirs,
executors, administrators, and assigns. And that's where we ought to
begin; putting ads in the _Times_, and setting private inquirers to
work, and all on to that tune; only, to play that tune, sir, you want
money. Some careless hussy has burnt that scrap of paper, sir, long
ago, to light a fire; or it has been used for twisting-up screws of
tobacco, or ha'porths of toffee, or hundreds of other things as some
beggarly shop or another is licensed to deal in. Only fancy someone
lighting his pipe with that valuable little scrap of paper! `Medicine
and attendance, Mrs Hardon, two, twelve, six!' I'll be bound to say
that was the figure, and I'd give something to get hold of that bit.
Wonder whether it's selfishness, and thinking of what it would be worth
to me? S'pose be; for this is a rum world, and I'm no better than I
should be. But who'd ever have thought this would have come out of my
going to his office and asking for a job? Don't matter, though, about
what I feel, for he'd have come to see me here safe enough, even if it
had not been about his affairs; for he's a trump, sir, a trump: but all
the same, it's a pity he ain't got more in him--worldly stuff, you
know."
Old Matt sat very thoughtfully for awhile, and then began to mutter
again.
"Wish I had a pinch of snuff once more. There now; I'm blest. Only to
think of that! me having my box in my pocket, and to forget all about
it--shows what my head's worth now. Bravo! though; that seems to clear
one's head wonderfully. I shall recommend its use in lunatic asylums
for mental diseases; fine thing, I believe. Only to think, though, for
me to get that into my head about that entry I had seen, and trying to
write it down, and then for it to be clean gone once more! S'pose I did
think of something of the kind, or see it, or something. Heigho!" he
sighed; "I must have been precious bad though, sir, confoundedly bad.
Thank goodness it's all over, though, for this time; and I'm going to
walk out soon, instead of, as I expected, being taken to the students'
lodgings in small pieces, wrapped up in paper--paper--waste-paper--by
jingo! though, I'll have a go at the waste-paper everywhere. I'll
search every waste-paper shop in London, beginning at Mother Slagg's--
beg her pardon, Gross by this time I suppose, and--and--hooray!" he
shouted wildly, to the intense astonishment of the fellow-patients, as
he tossed his newspaper in the air. "Snuff for ever! that pinch did it.
Only let me get out of this place. At last!"
Volume Three, Chapter III.