It is only two days since I wrote to you, my dear old chap, and yet I
find myself loaded to the muzzle and at full cock again. I have come to
Bradfield. I have seen old Cullingworth once more, and I have found
that all he has told me is true. Yes; incredible as it sounded, this
wonderful fellow seems to have actually built up a great practice in
little more than a year. He really is, with all his eccentricities, a
very remarkable man, Bertie. He doesn’t seem to have a chance of showing
his true powers in this matured civilisation. The law and custom hamper
him. He is the sort of fellow who would come right to the front in
a French Revolution. Or if you put him as Emperor over some of these
little South American States, I believe that in ten years he would
either be in his grave, or would have the Continent. Yes; Cullingworth
is fit to fight for a higher stake than a medical practice, and on a
bigger stage than an English provincial town. When I read of Aaron Burr
in your history I always picture him as a man like C.
I had the kindest of leave takings from Horton. If he had been my
brother he could not have been more affectionate. I could not have
thought that I should grow so fond of a man in so short a time. He
takes the keenest interest in my venture, and I am to write him a full
account. He gave me as we parted a black old meerschaum which he had
coloured himself--the last possible pledge of affection from a smoker.
It was pleasant for me to feel that if all went wrong at Bradfield, I
had a little harbour at Merton for which I could make. Still, of course,
pleasant and instructive as the life there was, I could not shut my eyes
to the fact that it would take a terribly long time before I could save
enough to buy a share in a practice--a longer time probably than my poor
father’s strength would last. That telegram of Cullingworth’s in which,
as you may remember, he guaranteed me three hundred pounds in the first
year, gave me hopes of a much more rapid career. You will agree with me,
I am sure, that I did wisely to go to him.
I had an adventure upon the way to Bradfield. The carriage in which
I was travelling contained a party of three, at whom I took the most
casual of glances before settling down to the daily paper. There was an
elderly lady, with a bright rosy face, gold spectacles, and a dash of
red velvet in her bonnet. With her were two younger people, who I took
to be her son and her daughter--the one a quiet, gentle-looking girl of
twenty or so, dressed in black, and the other a short, thick-set young
fellow, a year or two older. The two ladies sat by each other in the
far corner, and the son (as I presume him to be) sat opposite me. We may
have travelled an hour or more without my paying any attention to
this little family party, save that I could not help hearing some talk
between the two ladies. The younger, who was addressed as Winnie, had,
as I noticed, a very sweet and soothing voice. She called the elder
“mother,” which showed that I was right as to the relationship.
I was sitting, then, still reading my paper, when I was surprised to
get a kick on the shins from the young fellow opposite. I moved my legs,
thinking that it was an accident, but an instant afterwards I received
another and a harder one. I dropped my paper with a growl, but the
moment that I glanced at him I saw how the matter stood. His foot was
jerking spasmodically, his two hands clenched, and drumming against his
breast, while his eyes were rolling upwards until only the rim of his
iris was to be seen. I sprang upon him, tore open his collar, unbuttoned
his waistcoat, and pulled his head down upon the seat. Crash went one of
his heels through the carriage window, but I contrived to sit upon his
knees while I kept hold of his two wrists.
“Don’t be alarmed!” I cried, “it’s epilepsy, and will soon pass!”
Glancing up, I saw that the little girl was sitting very pale and quiet
in the corner. The mother had pulled a bottle out of her bag and was
quite cool and helpful.
“He often has them,” said she, “this is bromide.”
“He is coming out,” I answered; “you look after Winnie.”
I blurted it out because her head seemed to rock as if she were going
off; but the absurdity of the thing struck us all next moment, and the
mother burst into a laugh in which the daughter and I joined. The son
had opened his eyes and had ceased to struggle.
“I must really beg your pardon,” said I, as I helped him up again. “I
had not the advantage of knowing your other name, and I was in such a
hurry that I had no time to think what I was saying.”
They laughed again in the most good-humoured way, and, as soon as
the young fellow had recovered, we all joined in quite a confidential
conversation. It is wonderful how the intrusion of any of the realities
of life brushes away the cobwebs of etiquette. In half an hour we knew
all about each other, or at any rate I knew all about them. Mrs. La
Force was the mother’s name, a widow with these two children. They had
given up housekeeping, and found it more pleasant to live in apartments,
travelling from one watering place to another. Their one trouble was
the nervous weakness of the son Fred. They were now on their way to
Birchespool, where they hoped that he might get some good from the
bracing air. I was able to recommend vegetarianism, which I have found
to act like a charm in such cases. We had quite a spirited conversation,
and I think that we were sorry on both sides when we came to the
junction where they had to change. Mrs. La Force gave me her card, and I
promised to call if ever I should be in Birchespool.
However, all this must be stupid enough to you. You know my little ways
by this time, and you don’t expect me to keep on the main line of my
story. However, I am back on the rails now, and I shall try to remain
there.
Well, it was nearly six o’clock, and evening was just creeping in when
we drew up in Bradfield Station. The first thing I saw when I looked out
of the window was Cullingworth, exactly the same as ever, striding in
his jerky way down the platform, his coat flying open, his chin thrust
forward (he is the most under-hung man I have ever seen), and his great
teeth all gleaming, like a good-natured blood-hound. He roared with
delight when he saw me, wrung my hand, and slapped me enthusiastically
upon the shoulder.
“My dear chap!” said he. “We’ll clear this town out. I tell you, Munro,
we won’t leave a doctor in it. It’s all they can do now to get butter
to their bread; and when we get to work together they’ll have to eat it
dry. Listen to me, my boy! There are a hundred and twenty thousand folk
in this town, all shrieking for advice, and there isn’t a doctor who
knows a rhubarb pill from a calculus. Man, we only have to gather them
in. I stand and take the money until my arm aches.”
“But how is it?” I asked, as we pushed our way through the crowd, “are
there so few other doctors?”
“Few!” he roared. “By Crums, the streets are blocked with them. You
couldn’t fall out of a window in this town without killing a doctor. But
of all the ---- well, there, you’ll see them for yourself. You walked to
my house at Avonmouth, Munro. I don’t let my friends walk to my house at
Bradfield--eh, what?”
A well-appointed carriage with two fine black horses was drawn up at
the station entrance. The smart coachman touched his hat as Cullingworth
opened the door.
“Which of the houses, sir?” he asked.
Cullingworth’s eyes shot round to me to see what I thought of such a
query. Between ourselves I have not the slightest doubt that he had
instructed the man to ask it. He always had a fine eye for effect, but
he usually erred by underrating the intelligence of those around him.
“Ah!” said he, rubbing his chin like a man in doubt. “Well, I daresay
dinner will be nearly ready. Drive to the town residential.”
“Good gracious, Cullingworth!” said I as we started. “How many houses do
you inhabit? It sounds as if you had bought the town.”
“Well, well,” said he, laughing, “we are driving to the house where I
usually live. It suits us very well, though I have not been able to get
all the rooms furnished yet. Then I have a little farm of a few hundred
acres just outside the city. It is a pleasant place for the week ends,
and we send the nurse and the child----”
“My dear chap, I did not know that you had started a family!”
“Yes, it’s an infernal nuisance; but still the fact remains. We get our
butter and things from the farm. Then, of course, I have my house of
business in the heart of the city.”
“Consulting and waiting room, I suppose?”
He looked at me with a sort of half vexed, half amused expression. “You
cannot rise to a situation, Munro,” said he. “I never met a fellow with
such a stodgy imagination. I’d trust you to describe a thing when you
have seen it, but never to build up an idea of it beforehand.”
“What’s the trouble now?” I asked.
“Well, I have written to you about my practice, and I’ve wired to you
about it, and here you sit asking me if I work it in two rooms. I’ll
have to hire the market square before I’ve finished, and then I won’t
have space to wag my elbows. Can your imagination rise to a great house
with people waiting in every room, jammed in as tight as they’ll fit,
and two layers of them squatting in the cellar? Well, that’s my house of
business on an average day. The folk come in from the county fifty miles
off, and eat bread and treacle on the doorstep, so as to be first in
when the housekeeper comes down. The medical officer of health made an
official complaint of the over-crowding of my waiting-rooms. They wait
in the stables, and sit along the racks and under the horses’ bellies.
I’ll turn some of ‘em on to you, my boy, and then you’ll know a little
more about it.”
Well, all this puzzled me a good deal, as you can imagine, Bertie; for,
making every allowance for Cullingworth’s inflated way of talking, there
must be something at the back of it. I was thinking to myself that I
must keep my head cool, and have a look at everything with my own eyes,
when the carriage pulled up and we got out.
“This is my little place,” said Cullingworth.
It was the corner house of a line of fine buildings, and looked to me
much more like a good-sized hotel than a private mansion. It had a broad
sweep of steps leading to the door, and towered away up to five or six
stories, with pinnacles and a flagstaff on the top. As a matter of fact,
I learned that before Cullingworth took it, it had been one of the chief
clubs in the town, but the committee had abandoned it on account of
the heavy rent. A smart maid opened the door; and a moment later I
was shaking hands with Mrs. Cullingworth, who was all kindliness and
cordiality. She has, I think, forgotten the little Avonmouth business,
when her husband and I fell out.
The inside of the house was even huger than I had thought from the look
of the exterior. There were over thirty bedrooms, Cullingworth informed
me, as he helped me to carry my portmanteau upstairs. The hall and first
stair were most excellently furnished and carpetted, but it all run
to nothing at the landing. My own bedroom had a little iron bed, and a
small basin standing on a packing case. Cullingworth took a hammer from
the mantelpiece, and began to knock in nails behind the door.
“These will do to hang your clothes on,” said he; “you don’t mind
roughing it a little until we get things in order?”
“Not in the least.”
“You see,” he explained, “there’s no good my putting a forty pound suite
into a bed-room, and then having to chuck it all out of the window in
order to make room for a hundred-pound one. No sense in that, Munro!
Eh, what! I’m going to furnish this house as no house has ever been
furnished. By Crums! I’ll bring the folk from a hundred miles round just
to have leave to look at it. But I must do it room by room. Come down
with me and look at the dining-room. You must be hungry after your
journey.”
It really was furnished in a marvellous way--nothing flash, and
everything magnificent. The carpet was so rich that my feet seemed to
sink into it as into deep moss. The soup was on the table, and Mrs.
Cullingworth sitting down, but he kept hauling me round to look at
something else.
“Go on, Hetty,” he cried over his shoulder. “I just want to show Munro
this. Now, these plain dining-room chairs, what d’you think they cost
each? Eh, what?”
“Five pounds,” said I at a venture.
“Exactly!” he cried, in great delight; “thirty pounds for the six. You
hear, Hetty! Munro guessed the price first shot. Now, my boy, what for
the pair of curtains?”
They were a magnificent pair of stamped crimson velvet, with a two-foot
gilt cornice above them. I thought that I had better not imperil my
newly gained reputation by guessing.
“Eighty pounds!” he roared, slapping them with the back of his hand.
“Eighty pounds, Munro! What d’ye think of that? Everything that I
have in this house is going to be of the best. Why, look at this
waiting-maid! Did you ever see a neater one?”
He swung the girl, towards me by the arm.
“Don’t be silly, Jimmy,” said Mrs. Cullingworth mildly, while he
roared with laughter, with all his fangs flashing under his
bristling moustache. The girl edged closer to her mistress, looking
half-frightened and half-angry.
“All right, Mary, no harm!” he cried. “Sit down, Munro, old chap. Get a
bottle of champagne, Mary, and we’ll drink to more luck.”
Well, we had a very pleasant little dinner. It is never slow if
Cullingworth is about. He is one of those men who make a kind of
magnetic atmosphere, so that you feel exhilarated and stimulated in
their presence. His mind is so nimble and his thoughts so extravagant,
that your own break away from their usual grooves, and surprise you
by their activity. You feel pleased at your own inventiveness and
originality, when you are really like the wren when it took a lift on
the eagle’s shoulder. Old Peterson, you remember, used to have a similar
effect upon you in the Linlithgow days.
In the middle of dinner he plunged off, and came back with a round bag
about the size of a pomegranate in his hand.
“What d’ye think this is, Munro? Eh?”
“I have no idea.”
“Our day’s take. Eh, Hetty?” He undid a string, and in an instant a pile
of gold and silver rattled down upon the cloth, the coins whirling and
clinking among the dishes. One rolled off the table and was retrieved by
the maid from some distant corner.
“What is it, Mary? A half sovereign? Put it in your pocket. What did the
lot come to, Hetty?”
“Thirty-one pound eight.”
“You see, Munro! One day’s work.” He plunged his hand into his trouser
pocket and brought out a pile of sovereigns, which he balanced in his
palm. “Look at that, laddie. Rather different from my Avonmouth form,
eh? What?”
“It will be good news for them,” I suggested.
He was scowling at me in an instant with all his old ferocity. You
cannot imagine a more savage-looking creature than Cullingworth is when
his temper goes wrong. He gets a perfectly fiendish expression in his
light blue eyes, and all his hair bristles up like a striking cobra. He
isn’t a beauty at his best, but at his worst he’s really phenomenal. At
the first danger signal his wife had ordered the maid from the room.
“What rot you do talk, Munro!” he cried. “Do you suppose I am going to
cripple myself for years by letting those debts hang on to me?”
“I understood that you had promised,” said I. “Still, of course, it is
no business of mine.”
“I should hope not,” he cried. “A tradesman stands to win or to lose.
He allows a margin for bad debts. I would have paid it if I could. I
couldn’t, and so I wiped the slate clean. No one in his senses would
dream of spending all the money that I make in Bradfield upon the
tradesmen of Avonmouth.”
“Suppose they come down upon you?”
“Well, we’ll see about that when they do. Meanwhile I am paying ready
money for every mortal thing that comes up the door steps. They think so
well of me here that I could have had the whole place furnished like a
palace from the drain pipes to the flagstaff, only I determined to take
each room in turn when I was ready for it. There’s nearly four hundred
pounds under this one ceiling.”
There came a tap at the door, and in walked a boy in buttons.
“If you please, sir, Mr. Duncan wishes to see you.”
“Give my compliments to Mr. Duncan, and tell him he may go to the
devil!”
“My dear Jimmy!” cried Mrs. Cullingworth.
“Tell him I am at dinner; and if all the kings in Europe were waiting in
the hall with their crowns in their hands I wouldn’t cross that door mat
to see them.”
The boy vanished, but was back in an instant.
“Please, sir, he won’t go.”
“Won’t go! What d’you mean?” Cullingworth sat with his mouth open and
his knife and fork sticking up. “What d’you mean, you brat? What are you
boggling about?”
“It’s his bill, sir,” said the frightened boy.
Cullingworth’s face grew dusky, and the veins began to swell on his
forehead.
“His bill, eh! Look here!” He took his watch out and laid it on the
table. “It’s two minutes to eight. At eight I’m coming out, and if I
find him there I’ll strew the street with him. Tell him I’ll shred him
over the parish. He has two minutes to save his life in, and one of them
is nearly gone.”
The boy bolted from the room, and in an instant afterwards we heard
the bang of the front door, with a clatter of steps down the stairs.
Cullingworth lay back in his chair and roared until the tears shone
on his eyelashes, while his wife quivered all over with sympathetic
merriment.
“I’ll drive him mad,” Cullingworth sobbed at last. “He’s a nervous,
chicken-livered kind of man; and when I look at him he turns the colour
of putty. If I pass his shop I usually just drop in and stand and look
at him. I never speak, but just look. It paralyses him. Sometimes the
shop is full of people; but it is just the same.”
“Who is he, then?” I asked.
“He’s my corn merchant. I was saying that I paid my tradesmen as I go,
but he is the only exception. He has done me once or twice, you see;
and so I try to take it out of him. By the way, you might send him down
twenty pounds to-morrow, Hetty. It’s time for an instalment.”
What a gossip you will think me, Bertie? But when I begin, my memory
brings everything back so clearly, and I write on and on almost
unconsciously. Besides, this fellow is such a mixture of qualities, that
I could never give you any idea of him by myself; and so I just try to
repeat to you what he says, and what he does, so that you may build up
your own picture of the man. I know that he has always interested you,
and that he does so more now than ever since our fates have drawn us
together again.
After dinner, we went into the back room, which was the most
extraordinary contrast to the front one, having only a plain deal table,
and half-a-dozen kitchen chairs scattered about on a linoleum floor.
At one end was an electric battery and a big magnet. At the other, a
packing case with several pistols and a litter of cartridges upon it. A
rook rifle was leaning tip against it, and looking round I saw that the
walls were all pocked with bullet marks.
“What’s this, then?” I asked, rolling my eyes round.
“Hetty, what’s this?” he asked, with his pipe in his hand and his head
cocked sideways.
“Naval supremacy and the command of the seas,” said she, like a child
repeating a lesson.
“That’s it,” he shouted, stabbing at me with the amber. “Naval supremacy
and command of the seas. It’s all here right under your nose. I tell
you, Munro, I could go to Switzerland to-morrow, and I could say to
them--‘Look here, you haven’t got a seaboard and you haven’t got a port;
but just find me a ship, and hoist your flag on it, and I’ll give you
every ocean under heaven.’ I’d sweep the seas until there wasn’t a
match-box floating on them. Or I could make them over to a limited
company, and join the board after allotment. I hold the salt water in
the cup of this hand, every drop of it.”
His wife put her hands on his shoulder with admiration in her eyes. I
turned to knock out my pipe, and grinned over the grate.
“Oh, you may grin,” said he. (He was wonderfully quick at spotting what
you were doing.) “You’ll grin a little wider when you see the dividends
coming in. What’s the value of that magnet?”
“A pound?”
“A million pounds. Not a penny under. And dirt cheap to the nation that
buys it. I shall let it go at that, though I could make ten times as
much if I held on. I shall take it up to the Secretary of the Navy in
a week or two; and if he seems to be a civil deserving sort of person I
shall do business with him. It’s not every day, Munro, that a man comes
into his office with the Atlantic under one arm and the Pacific under
the other. Eh, what?”
I knew it would make him savage, but I lay back in my chair and laughed
until I was tired. His wife looked at me reproachfully; but he, after a
moment of blackness, burst out laughing also, stamping up and down the
room and waving his arms.
“Of course it seems absurd to you,” he cried. “Well, I daresay it would
to me if any other fellow had worked it out. But you may take my word
for it that it’s all right. Hetty here will answer for it. Won’t you,
Hetty?”
“It’s splendid, my dear.”
“Now I’ll show you, Munro; what an unbelieving Jew you are, trying to
look interested, and giggling at the back of your throat! In the first
place, I have discovered a method--which I won’t tell you--of increasing
the attractive power of a magnet a hundred-fold. Have you grasped that?”
“Yes.”
“Very good. You are also aware, I presume, that modern projectiles are
either made of or tipped with steel. It may possibly have come to your
ears that magnets attract steel. Permit me now to show you a small
experiment.” He bent over his apparatus, and I suddenly heard the
snapping of electricity. “This,” he continued going across to the
packing case, “is a saloon pistol, and will be exhibited in the museums
of the next century as being the weapon with which the new era was
inaugurated. Into the breech I place a Boxer cartridge, specialty
provided for experimental purposes with a steel bullet. I aim point
blank at the dab of red sealing wax upon the wall, which is four inches
above the magnet. I am an absolutely dead shot. I fire. You will now
advance, and satisfy yourself that the bullet is flattened upon the end
of the magnet, after which you will apologise to me for that grin.”