A FEUD
My nephew calmed down presently and apologized to the ladies for his
outburst. It had been a distressing scene; but, whether it was Doctor
Gaskell’s rude pronouncement, or excitement, which caused her to forget
her troubles, or just coincidence, Aunt Mary seemed much better for it.
She replied rather shortly to our questions, saying that she was more
comfortable “for the moment,” that she didn’t want anything, and that
she’d lie down a while to recuperate.
Miss Christie wheeled her back again into her bedroom, apparently quite
her usual sweetly, patient self. But I was convinced, none the less,
that she would not lightly forgive Doctor Gaskell.
Poor Dorothy looked dreadfully flustered. As my nephew left us to give
the nurse some last directions, she drew me out into the dining room.
“I--I don’t know what to think, Uncle George,” she declared. “I know
Doctor Gaskell was awfully harsh, and everything like that; and of
course Lewis is an awfully good doctor, and I’m sure he knows what he’s
talking about, but--but, Uncle George, I do believe there was some truth
in what Doctor Gaskell said. I do, I _do_! So there! You haven’t lived
with Aunt Mary a whole year like I have. I do believe she makes out her
pains are lots worse than they are--sometimes; I do believe she likes to
have folks say how patient she is, and how she suffers. If she’s cross
with me, or anything upsets her, I do believe she has one of these bad
spells, when other folks would just be cross and cranky. I just do! But
you won’t tell, will you? You won’t breathe it to a soul that I said
that, will you, Uncle George? Because, maybe, it’s just my meanness,
and, besides, Lewis wouldn’t like it.”
So I promised. Then Lewis appeared, and I went out with him, my own mind
considerably unsettled by doubts. On the whole I was inclined to agree
with Dorothy that Aunt Mary, despite her repeated claims that she never
complained, managed to make the very most of her troubles. My nephew was
still incensed; he snorted wrathfully at intervals. I thought it best to
keep my suspicions to myself.
“I’ll take you down to the post office, unk,” he said. “The mail must be
in by now, and I’ve got to stop at the drug store, anyhow.”
We went to the latter place first, and the pharmacist, Walter Olsen,
hailed my nephew with joy.
“Howdy, doc! Glad you came in. Come on back here.”
He stooped over the high prescription counter at the back of the store,
his inch-wide blond eyebrows working up and down, as they did when he
was puzzled. He was conning over a slip of paper, and this he handed to
my nephew.
“See if you can make that out, doc? Gaskell’s worse than usual lately;
can’t read his writing at all. And he’s gone off somewhere, and
Satterfield may be in any minute after this.”
Lewis took the prescription and studied it for a moment. “Tincture
aconite, one drachm,” he read. “Bellonia--no, belladonna, a scruple.”
Then he paused, staring over the paper at the druggist. “Satterfield,
did you say? Ralph Satterfield? Why, the Satterfields are my patients!
What in thunder does Gaskell mean, stealing my cases?”
He threw the prescription down angrily, his hot temper all aflame. My
nephew had a healthy opinion of his own dignity. “I won’t waste my time
on it!” he flared. “Let Gaskell translate his own scrawls. What a dirty
trick, stealing my patients! I never did think much of Gaskell, but I
supposed he had some idea of ethics. Wonder if he ever heard of
professional etiquette?”
“Now, now, doc,” soothed Olsen. He was a mild, pacific chap. “Don’t let
it upset you. There must be some mistake. Doctor Gaskell wouldn’t do
that, I’m sure.” Stealing another man’s patients is one of the high
crimes of medicine. “You better just ask him about it; likely
Satterfield told him you’d stopped coming.”
“Nonsense!” replied Lewis. “I was out there yesterday; I was on my way
there this morning. It’s the boy, Johnny, isn’t it?” He picked up the
prescription once more. “John Satterfield! That’s my case; I’m treating
that boy. Gaskell just butted in on me without a word. Confound him,
he’s always playing me some dirty trick!”
His voice was high; one or two loafers in the front of the store heard
him and came back to peer over the high screen. Olsen looked troubled.
“Wish I’d let Ralph wait till I could locate Gaskell,” Olsen said to me
helplessly. “I hate to start trouble like this.” He craned his neck to
peer over the screen, as the front door opened. “Here’s Satterfield
coming now!” he announced in vast relief. “You talk to him, doc; see if
he don’t explain this thing. You can talk right back here.”
He beckoned the newcomer and led us to a small storeroom behind the
shop. “You-all can talk quiet in there.” He cast a worried look at the
loungers, who stared and whispered in front of the counter.
I drew my nephew into the room, almost by force. “You cool off, boy,” I
ordered, “or else let me talk to him. You’re making a show of yourself;
this thing’ll be all over town before night.”
Thus adjured, Lewis took a fresh grip on himself and turned more quietly
to Satterfield. The latter was a tall, gaunt, slab-sided individual in
overalls and a battered slouch hat.
“Look here, Satterfield,” he began, “I thought I was taking care of
Johnny?”
The other rasped a stubbly chin and pulled at his drooping mustache, in
obvious embarrassment.
“We-ell, doc, y’see----” He paused, shuffled his feet and took a fresh
start. “W’y, th’ woman got kinda panicky yestiddy after you was there.
Says th’ boy was worse, sez she, an’ you was too young, she sez, an’ we
gotta have Doc Gaskell, ’at she knowed, she sez, an’ took care o’ her
w’en th’ kids was borned, sez she.”
“Huh. And he came running, didn’t he? Glad enough to steal one of my
patients from me.”
“W’y, no, doc,” Satterfield answered. “Couldn’t hardly git ’im out
there. Says we’d got another doctor, and we’d ought to have him.
Wouldn’t come until finely I got Bill Sears to’ drap you a post card,
sayin’ we didn’t want yuh t’ come no longer. Ain’t yuh got it yit?”
Lewis glared, open-mouthed, taken aback by this revelation. But I think
his anger against Gaskell only burned the brighter for the knowledge
that he had done the older man an injustice.
“He’s a dirty hound, anyway,” he retorted. “And as for you, Satterfield,
you must think a lot of yourself, begging help from the man who put you
in jail last month.”
The other reddened, scowling sullenly. “That’s between him an’ me,” he
said.
Gaskell was one of the town commissioners, and he had been acting mayor
for two months, during the absence of Frank Hayes. And, when Satterfield
had been brought before him, charged with bootlegging, Gaskell had given
the countryman thirty days on the roads.
“That’s between him an’ me,” said Satterfield. “Cain’t nobody send me to
th’ jail house ’ithout payin’ f’r it. I’ll settle with Doc Gaskell
yit--you see! But that ain’t got nothin’ t’ do with this here; we-all
quit doctorin’ with you an’ sent f’r Doc Gaskell, see? Yuh got anythin’
t’ say about that, huh?”
He glared belligerently at Lewis. I fancy that his own conscience was
something less than easy, which naturally made him irritable.
“No, no!” I told him. “It’s all right; the doctor is perfectly
satisfied. Come along, Lewis!”
My aged nerves had stood all they could this morning. I hurried my
nephew out of the place before he could start a new quarrel. At last I
got the boy off on his rounds, in a tolerably calm frame of mind, and I
walked slowly back to the house.
My heart was heavy. Unless he learned to curb his hot temper Lewis could
not hope to do well here. In any open break the sympathy of the
townspeople would naturally go to Doctor Gaskell, the older and
better-known man. Lewis would suffer, whatever the merits of the case.
It worried me deeply.
As I turned onto our street, I noticed a team of mules standing before
Doctor Gaskell’s house, and a deep, angry roar drew my eyes to his front
porch.
A huge old man, bearded to the waist, stood on the doctor’s porch, a
wide-brimmed felt hat thrust far back on his massive head. He was
shouting at a thoroughly frightened negro maid.
“Out, huh? Gone away, huh? He better be gone away! Where’s he at, huh?”
“G-gone to th’ h-hospital, suh,” answered the girl in a quavering voice.
“He’s done gone, suh; ain’t gwine be back ontwel evenin’.”
“Huh?” A terrifying snort shook the air. “You tell ’em this word f’om
me, f’om Lafe Rutledge, gyurl. Tell ’im he’s got till sunup t’ settle,
an’ that’s all. I’ll be down to th’ Pinelands Hotel all evenin’. Ontel
sunup, you hear me?”
“Yassuh! Oh, yassuh. I shore will tell th’ doctah!”
The giant snorted once more, tugged at his flowing beard and turned
away. His heavy cowhide boots stamped down the steps; then he clambered
into his wagon, gathered the lines and lashed his mules to a run.
Well, Doctor Gaskell’s troubles were his own. I was more concerned with
my nephew’s, and I feared that his hot temper would provide plenty for
him.