IN WHICH THE DOCTOR PAYS A VISIT AND RECEIVES NO FEE; AND I AM OBLIGED
TO WORK VERY HARD TO PROCURE MYSELF A LIVELIHOOD.
I did not forget my father's injunctions, for I was very much
frightened. There was a doctor who lived half-way up Church Street, a
short distance from Fisher's Alley. He was a little man with a large
head sunk down between two broad shoulders; his eyes were small and
twinkling, his nose snubbed, his pate nearly bald; but on the sides of
his head the hair was long and flowing. But if his shoulders were
broad, the rest of his body was not in the same proportion--for he
narrowed as he descended, his hips being very small, and his legs as
thin as those of a goat. His real name was Todpoole, but the people
invariably called him Tadpole, and he certainly in appearance somewhat
reminded you of one. He was a facetious little fellow, and, it was
said, very clever in his profession.
"Doctor Tadpole," cried I, out of breath with running, "come--quick, my
mother is very bad indeed."
"What's the matter?" said he, peering over a mortar in which he was
rubbing up something with the pestle. "External or internal?"
Although I did not know what he meant, I replied, "Both, doctor, and a
great deal more besides."
"That's bad indeed," replied Tadpole, still rubbing away.
"But you must come directly," cried I. "Come along--quick!"
"_Festina lente_, good boy--that's Latin for hat and boots. Tom, are my
boots clean?"
"Ye'es, sir," replied a carroty-headed boy, whom I knew well.
The doctor laid down his pestle, and taking his seat on a chair, began
very leisurely to pull on his boots, whilst I stamped with impatience.
"Now, do be quick, doctor, my mother will be dead."
"Jack," said the doctor, grinning, as he pulled on his second boot,
"people don't die so quick before the doctor comes--it's always
afterwards:--however, I'm glad to see you are so fond of your mother.
Tom, is my hat brushed?"
"Ye'es, sir," replied Tom, bringing the doctor's hat.
"Now then, Jack, I'm all ready. Tom, mind the shop, and don't eat the
stick-liquorice--d'ye hear?"
"Ye'es, sir," said Tom, with a grin from ear to ear.
The doctor followed me very quick, for he thought from my impatience
that something serious must be the matter. He walked up to my mother's
room, and I hastened to open the door; when, to my surprise, I found my
mother standing before the glass arranging her hair.
"Well!" exclaimed my mother, "this is very pretty behaviour--forcing
your way into a lady's room."
The doctor stared, and so did I. At last I exclaimed, "Well! father
thought he'd killed her."
"Yes," cried my mother, "and he's gone away with it on his conscience,
that's some comfort. He won't come back in a hurry; he thinks he has
committed murder, the unfeeling brute! Well, I've had my revenge."