"Dear me! So soon!"
"I thought it advisable, in view of the possibility of my being some
time in the district, to take a strong line from the beginning. So I
led off by tackling what turned out to be the worst man of the lot."
"You have shown them that you are not a person to be trifled with?"
suggested Mr Maybury, approvingly.
"That was my idea. But you may be interested to hear that another man
has been put in permanent charge of the surgery----"
"Then you are no longer employed by Dr Taplow?" interrupted Mrs Maybury.
"That is so," said Jim.
"But he will still work in Mount Street," put in Koko, quickly, "as he
is setting up a practice there on his own account."
They all glanced towards Koko, except Dora, who, looking at Jim,
observed that he was palpably wonder-struck by Koko's remark. Jim,
indeed, was as surprised as anyone at the table. What on earth was Koko
driving at?
As everybody (except Dora) turned towards Koko, Mr Somers rose from the
table.
"You must excuse such an unceremonious departure, Mrs Maybury," he said,
"but I have just remembered that I have a most important appointment to
keep. I thank you for your very kind hospitality. Jim, I should like
to see you before I go."
As Koko bowed himself out, Jim, marvelling greatly, followed him. In
the hall, Koko exclaimed:
"It's all right, Jim--I'll lend you the money."
"What--for me to set up against Taplow?"
"That's it. You _must_ stay here, and you'll do well in Mount Street.
You shall have the money in the morning, and then you can go along and
rig up a place and start right off. What's the lowest figure you can
begin on?"
"I don't know," said Jim. "Say fifty quid."
"You shall have it. I'll be round here with it at ten in the morning."
"But--old man--I don't like----"
"I've thought it out," said Koko, "and meant to tell you all about it
after dinner, but you forced my hand by saying you'd left Taplow."
Then Koko put on his hat, opened the front door, and slipped out. Jim
returned slowly to the dining-room.
"Is this true, Dr Mortimer?" asked Mrs Maybury, in a tone implying some
doubt. "Are you really setting up in Mount Street on your own account?"
Jim had implicit confidence in Koko's word.
"It is quite true, Mrs Maybury," he replied, coolly, as he resumed his
seat.
*CHAPTER XIII.*
*"HARRIS & FATHER."*
Mr Harris, senior partner in the firm of Harris & Son, provision
dealers, Mount Street, S.E., was in a state of much tribulation. For Mr
Harris, owing to an unfortunate propensity for backing horses which
either came in last, or fell down and broke their legs, or behaved in
some other unsatisfactory fashion, had, as the phrase is, outrun the
constable, and on the day that witnessed his visit to Dr Taplow's
surgery, had found himself threatened with bankruptcy and ruin.
That evening--there being no other course to pursue--he had made a clean
breast of his affairs to his son Isaac, a weedy, lynx-eyed youth of a
greasy and unwashed appearance.
"So dat is the case, my son," concluded Mr Harris, throwing out his
hands in a gesture of despair; "and now--vot are ve to do--vot are ve to
do?"
Mr Harris and his heir, it may be added, were East End Jews of a
pronounced type, and their speech suggested a certain German strain in
their ancestry.
"It is very sad, mine fader," replied young Harris; "it vos foolish of
you to bet on dose 'orses----."
"It vos foolish of dose 'orses not to run faster!" cried Mr Harris,
proceeding to cut his nails with the counter scissors.
"Don't take the edge off dose scissors, mine fader," said young Harris,
snatching them away from his parent.
"And vy not? Dey are my scissors!" exclaimed Mr Harris, endeavouring to
grab them back.
"Ven I haf bought dem dey vill not be yours," explained young Harris,
amiably turning the point of the scissors towards his sire, so that,
should the latter persist in his endeavour to regain them, he might
receive some hurt from the effort.
The old dealer gazed wonderingly at his fond child. "You--you vill buy
dose scissors? Ah! at the sale?"
"No--from you, mine fader. I haf saved up some money, and _I_ haf
backed 'orses, too. But I did notice, mine fader, dat the 'orses you
did bet on did always lose, so I did always bet on dose vot you didn't,
and so when you did lose I did often vin, and so, mine fader, I will buy
the pizness from you--dat is to say," concluded the young man with hasty
caution, "I vill pay your debts, mine fader, if you vill gif me the
pizness."
"Isaac," said Mr Harris, with emotion, "do not be hard on your old
fader. Think of the money I skwandered on your education, my son--think
of the peautiful school I put you to ven you vos a boy----"
"It vas only fivepence a veek!" retorted young Isaac, ungratefully.
"And ven you vos fourteen, my son Isaac, ven you vos an eddicated young
gentleman, I took you from dat school and I put you behind the counter,
and I taught you the pizness--and you had two soots of clothes a year,
and a veek's 'oliday at Margit--oh! I haf been a kind fader to you, my
son Isaac! Vill you lend me the money to pay my debts vith, Isaac?"
"Not a farding!" exclaimed young Harris, roughly. "You've been 'ard on
me, and now I'll be 'ard on you. You've made me vork and slave while
you've gone off to put money on 'orses that always fell down! Yes,
you've been 'ard on me, and now I'll be----"
Here young Harris paused in his harangue. An idea occurred to him. If
he bought up his father's business and turned his father out of the
house, he would have to engage a shopman. That would come expensive.
No, he must keep his father on, and make him help with the work.
Old Harris was quick to take advantage of the discontinuance of Isaac's
discourse.
"You von't be too 'ard on me, my son?" he whined, "think of the
pantermimes I took you to ven you vos a little boy."
"Vell, I vill not be 'ard on you, mine fader," responded young Harris,
apparently softened by this tender reminiscence. "No, I vill tell you
vot I vill do. I vill take you into partnership. You shall be as I
vos--you shall haf what you haf gave me. Is not that dootiful of me,
mine fader?"
Old Harris groaned. True, his son had been his partner of recent years,
but Isaac's share in the business had been so small that it could hardly
have been called a share, save when viewed under a microscope. However,
beggars can't be choosers, so there and then young Harris drew up a
temporary agreement--to be presently made permanent in a due and proper
manner by a solicitor--under which Isaac undertook to pay his father's
debts (which amounted to a hundred pounds--a large sum for a small
tradesman in a humble street), and Mr Harris, on his side, undertook to
hand over the control of the shop to Isaac, he himself receiving board,
lodging, and a share in the business, on condition he gave as much time
to the business as his son had formerly devoted to it.
Thus were the tables completely turned on the unlucky provision dealer.
By way of showing that he was in earnest, and not being restrained by
any false delicacy, Isaac, as soon as he had breakfasted on the
following morning, went out in search of a painter. Having found a man,
he brought him and his ladder and his paint-pot back with him, and set
the man at once to alter the title over the shop window from "Harris &
Son" to "Harris & Father."
So it came about that when Jim, having received the promised fifty
pounds from Koko, walked round to see Mr Harris concerning a suitable
tenement wherein he might set up as a surgeon, he found the painter just
completing his task, and young Harris, with his hands in his pockets,
perkily surveying the alteration.
"Hullo!" said Jim, "changes in the firm, I observe."
"Yes, doctor," said Isaac; "mine fader, he vos ruined by 'orse-racing,
and so it is now my shop, and mine fader, he is my partner."
"Don't quite see how it can be your shop if he is your partner," said
Jim.
"_He_ vill tell you," said Isaac, indicating the interior of the shop
with a dirty forefinger; "he is cleaning the counter. Soon he vill vipe
the plates and knives and forks. He is going to vork now as I did used
to."
And Isaac resumed his occupation of watching the painter with a most
truculent and self-satisfied expression on his face.
Jim walked into the provision shop.
"Morning, Mr Harris."
Mr Harris shook his head despondently.
"I ain't Mr 'Arris no longer," he said. "'_E's_ Mr 'Arris. '_E's_ the
boss. Ah, doctor," continued the old man, wiping away a tear with his
shirt-sleeve, "if I'd a-known this vas goin' to 'appen--if I'd a-known
that velp vos goin' to buy me up by bettin' on the 'orses I said vos no
good, I----"
Mr Harris paused for breath. Jim waited for some interesting old
Hebraic curse. But none came.
"--I'd never 'ave let 'im see my evenin' paper. That's vare 'e got it.
I marked the 'orses I vos goin' to flutter on, and 'e saw 'em and laid
accordin'!"
"Rather smart!" laughed Jim. "The firm got square with the bookies that
way."
"And when I think," almost shrieked old Harris, "that 'e betted vith
money out of the till--that he used my money to play me that trick
vith--when I think of _that_----"
Again Mr Harris paused for breath, again Jim expected a rich and fruity
paternal curse, and again none such came.
"When I think of that," resumed Mr Harris, "it goes to my 'eart to
remember I vouldn't buy a cash-registering machine that vos offered to
me at '_arf-price_ by a pawnbroker friend of mine 'oo vos giving up!"
"And why didn't you?" asked Jim.
"_Vy_? Vy, becos that velp yonder--young Isaac--says: 'Fader, do not
buy that machine. If you do, the customers vill steal the sausages vile
ve turn our backs to get the change.' That is vy. And I gave 'im a
shillin' for bein' so clever. And it's a thousand pound to a little bit
of cat's meat, doctor," concluded Mr Harris with great bitterness, "that
'e laid that bob on a 'orse that came 'ome!"
"Well, Mr Harris," said Jim, "I'm sorry you have been so unfortunate.
But I must get on with my business. I want to open a surgery in this
street, and I want you to tell me if there's a likely house about here
for the purpose."
Mr Harris fixed his gaze eagerly on Jim's face, and as he did so his
eyes lightened up with a great idea. What he wanted was a little ready
money. Get that ready money he must, or his scheme would fail!
"Yes, doctor," he said, "I know a 'ouse. That pawnbroker friend of
mine, 'e shut up 'is shop when 'e retired from business, and asked me to
get a tenant for it. You shall 'ave it cheap, my dear sir. You can
'ack it about a bit, and it'll suit you fine. Come and see it--come
on!"
In nervous haste the old man put on his coat and hat. "Come on,
doctor," he said.
But young Isaac confronted his father at the shop door. "Vare vos you
goin', mine fader?" he inquired.
"I vos goin' vith the doctor. If I oblige 'im 'e will attend us for
nozzing, my son. Is that not good? Come on, doctor."
With this Mr Harris hastened past his son, and, accompanied by Jim, at
length arrived at a dingy-looking shop, whose shutters bore sundry
placards giving the world to understand that the place was "TO LET."
"There, doctor, that vill make you a peautiful surgery. But you shall
see it."
When Jim had inspected the place he decided to take it.
"What's the rent?" he asked old Harris.
"Sixty pounds a year, doctor, paid quarterly in advance."
"Do I pay you, Mr Harris?"
"Yes, you pay me," replied the dealer, hastily.
"All right. Then that's fifteen pounds. You shall have it as soon as I
have taken possession. You get a commission on this deal, eh?"
"_I_ get a commission? Vy, yes, I vould not let anything vithout one.
I get ten per cent, doctor dear--to come off the first quarter's rent.
That's six pounds. You _vill_ pay me in advance, doctor, eh?"
"Oh, rather!" said Jim.
At this point Mr Harris looked cunningly at his young medical adviser.
"The top part of the 'ouse, doctor dear--you vill sleep in it?"
"Not I," said Jim.
"Then you vill not vant it?"
"Well, I suppose not."
"You vill lend me the outside, then. Eh? You vill lend me the vall?"
"Lend you the wall--what for?"
"First say you vill lend it me!"
"Well, I'll lend it you. Now tell me what you'll do with it," said Jim.
Mr Harris rubbed his hands together. "I vill let it for advertisements.
It vill be an 'oarding. I vill let it to one of those contractors--it
vill be a fine 'oarding. It vill not 'urt you, and it vill bring me
money."
"Where do _I_ come in?" demanded Jim, laughing.
"Vy, it vill '_elp_ you, my dear doctor. People will look at the
'oarding, and then they vill see your plate, and then they vill come in
for advice, and you'll make a fortune, doctor dear--all through me! Vy,
you ought to pay me for the idea!"
"I hadn't thought of it in that light," said Jim, much amused.
The old dealer chuckled with glee. "Ah, my son Isaac!" he cried, "you
shall sing yet vith the uzzer side of your mouth. I shall 'ave money.
The evenin' paper shall come--_Isaac_ vill mark the 'orses now--'e will
back them, _and I vill back vot 'e backs_. Then ve vill see!"
"That will be a cute dodge--if it comes off!" said Jim.
"Come off--it _must_!" cried the old man, with the fatalism of the
confirmed gambler, "it can't '_elp_ itself! Aha! And then ve vill see,
Isaac my son, _ve vill see_!"
*CHAPTER XIV.*
*A PIECE OF NEWS.*
Jim went to work on the ex-pawnbroking establishment with marvellous
energy. He had bank-notes in his pocket, and a compelling personality
which duly influenced the workmen he engaged to make the necessary
alterations. In a few days his surgery was ready, and the door of it
adorned with a neat brass plate bearing his name.
Koko called and ran a critical eye over the place. "It'll do," he said;
"now go ahead and cut out old Taplow."
"Well, it's all your idea," said Jim, "and carried out with your money,
old man. By the way, many thanks for the loan. You bolted off in such
a hurry the other day that I'd no time----"
"Had to go to a trotting match," explained Koko, briefly.
Jim was rather surprised himself at the way he had "got to work." In
the morning he went off to his surgery full of zest and expectancy; his
duties interested him keenly. True, very few people came to him to be
doctored, but Jim had a stout heart, and thoroughly believed that he
would be able to work up a good practice--in time. At present the folks
round there went to the surgery they were used to--Dr Taplow's. They
were yet to learn what Jim was made of. The man Taplow had "put in" was
ten years older than Jim--bearded and serious, with a grave, telling
manner, behind which lay (apparently) a wealth of knowledge. Jim's
extreme youthfulness was against him. The ladies of the neighbourhood
declared that they weren't going to be doctored by a boy like that, and
Taplow's new man throve in consequence.
But Jim Mortimer did not lose heart. Before him was Dora's face--this
was the beacon that guided him and gave him hope. Dora--with whom he
merely exchanged a few words daily! And so he plodded on his rounds,
with Dora's eyes, as lanterns, lighting the path that he trod.
The rough whom Jim had laid out in the fashion already described had not
forgotten the incident. He had a sturdy band in the neighbourhood at his
call, and one night, as Jim was issuing from a house in the Blackfriars
Road, he found an ill-favoured ring of louts about him. Not a policeman
was in sight, but a man was hosing down the pavement. Quick as thought,
Jim made a dash for the hose, and, seizing it, turned it upon the
Hooligans. The volume of water scattered them in all directions, and
Jim, smiling, returned the hose to the road-cleaner with many thanks and
a tip.
But the human scum of which this Hooligan band was composed was not
easily daunted. It was equal to almost any atrocity--any meanness. It
could kick a policeman's head in, and steal his cape; it could waylay
old men, rob them, and leave them half dead in the gutter. This scum
could plan out its forays with deliberation and cunning. It could watch
a man pace his way homewards on Monday and Tuesday, and let him go
scatheless, but it would have him on Wednesday in some dark corner.
A less courageous man than Jim would have thrown up the sponge and
retired to a safer neighbourhood. But Jim held on. They broke his red
lamp and smashed his windows, but he merely requisitioned the services
of a glazier, and hammered half the life out of a ruffian whom he found,
a few nights later, about to put the knob of his stick through the new
lamp. And so the Hooligans came to learn that the new doctor in Mount
Street--the bearded man, curiously enough, they let severely alone--was
made of about the sternest stuff they had ever encountered, and they saw
that they would have to bide their time and watch most diligently for an
opportunity to be revenged on him. But their desire to get even with
him never abated. They were just waiting, and they knew they would not
have to wait very long.
Jim used to reach the surgery in the morning about ten. Between one and
two, or two and three--according to his engagements--he had his lunch at
the emporium of Harris & Father, or at some other eating-house situated
near his work. Tea was served to him (when he was there to have it) by
an old dame whom he had engaged to look after the house and do the
cleaning. This lady occupied a couple of the upper back rooms, for Mr
Harris, losing no time in carrying out his hoarding scheme, had let off
the upper walls of the front to a bill-posting firm, the result being
that that portion of the ex-pawnbroking establishment which faced the
street was soon covered with flaming placards drawing attention to
whatever melodrama was being played at the local theatre. As Mr Harris
had anticipated, these posters attracted much attention, and Mount
Street wayfarers stopped constantly to gape at the thrilling scenes
depicted in crude and aggressive colours above Jim's surgery. Not being
aware of Mr Harris's responsibility for this display, Mount Street
naturally conjectured that Jim Mortimer had let off the walls on his own
account; and so, while some of its inhabitants expressed admiration for
Jim's cuteness, others declared that a doctor ought to be above getting
money in that way, adding that Taplow didn't descend to such catchpenny
tricks, which showed that he could afford to do without them.
The posters were a source of constant amusement to Jim himself, and he
took a keen interest in the weekly changes of the pictorial decoration
of his outside walls. The men who came every Monday to paste up new
"bills" soon got to know the young doctor, and one of them gruffly
invited Jim to pay a call on his father-in-law, who seemed unable to
throw off an obstinate attack of bronchitis. Jim promptly looked up the
old man; after examining him, he stripped him to the skin and rubbed him
all over with brandy. "It'll be all right," said Jim, "you'll see."
And it was, for the fierce spirit drew out the inflammation, and within
three days the bill-poster's father-in-law was able to go downstairs.
The story of the cure, needless to say, was related in every
public-house in the district--and from that hour more patients began to
trickle into Mortimer's surgery.
Jim went home for dinner, but returned to his surgery directly the meal
was over. One night, however, he did not go to the surgery, but,
instead, stayed at No. 9 and helped Frank with his home-lessons. They
had the dining-room to themselves, and were soon deeply immersed in the
Rivers of Europe. Presently Dora peeped in--a little shyly, it seemed
to Jim--and Frank sang out: "I say, Dora, this is a lark; come and see!"
For Jim had drawn a rough outline map of Europe, and Frank was filling
in the countries and rivers, Jim holding the map proper before him and
coaching his pupil with characteristic energy.
"It waggles there," Jim said, as, Dora having seated herself by her
brother, Frank started on the Danube, "and now it goes straight on.
Steady, man--you're making it run over a mountain. Now, waggle it a bit
more. That's prime."
Frank enjoyed the lesson hugely, and presently Dora drew a river--the
Rhine--and won much partial praise from Mr Mortimer.
After that Jim took Frank through his French verbs, Dora flagrantly
prompting her brother, and from this they proceeded to English History,
Jim giving Frank a racy description of James the Second's flight, and
the causes leading up to it, which somehow stuck in Frank's head to such
effect that on the following day he was awarded eighty marks out of a
possible hundred, and greatly astonished his form-master by displaying
such unusual evidences of industrious preparation.
It was a happy evening--Jim never remembered spending a happier--and
Mortimer went to his work next day with a light heart and a most tender
recollection of Dora drawing the course of a river very incorrectly.
But such happy evenings as this had been do not often occur in anybody's
life--it is their unexpectedness which gives them the charm which
lingers in one's memory.
Jim helped Frank on several occasions after that, but Dora did not join
them. She was out, Frank supposed, with Mr Jefferson. Such
announcements filled Jim with forebodings which were to be realised only
too speedily.
One evening, when Jim had been established in his new surgery about
three weeks, Koko looked in.
"Hullo, Koko!"
"Hullo, Jim!"
Koko sat down and glanced about him.
"Business improving, Jim?"
"Things are looking better, thanks, old man."
"And as to No. 9?"
"Cold generally; variable breezes," was Jim's weather report.
"He doesn't know yet," thought Koko. Then he added: "I met Miss Cook
to-day."
"Oh, how is she?" said Jim, carelessly, as he went on making up
medicine.
"He ought to know," thought Koko, adding aloud: "She's all right. Gave
me a bit of information--about Dora."