The doctor was a little stout man, not what could be called corpulent,
but presenting that sort of plump appearance which gives the idea of a
person's being hard-packed, squeezed, crammed into his skin.
Such was the doctor, then--not positively fat, but thick, firm, and
stumpy; the latter characteristic being considerably heightened by his
always wearing a pair of glossy Hessian boots, which, firmly encasing
his little thick legs up nearly to the knees, gave a peculiar air of
stamina and solidity to his nether person. The doctor stood like a rock
in his Hessians, and stumped along in them--for he was excessively vain
of them--as proudly as a field-marshal, planting his little iron heels
on the flag-stones with a sharpness and decision that told of a firm and
vigorous step.
The doctor was no great hand at his trade; but this, it is but fair to
observe, was not his own opinion. It was the opinion only of those who
employed him, and of the little public to whom he was known. He himself
entertained wholly different sentiments on the subject. The doctor, in
truth, was a vain, conceited little gentleman; but, withal, a pleasant
sort of person, and very generally liked. He sung a capital song, and
had an inexhaustible fund of animal spirits.
One consequence of the latter circumstance was his being much invited
out amongst his friends and acquaintances. He was, in fact, a regular
guest at all their festivities and merry-makings, and on these occasions
used to get himself fully more strongly malted than became a gentleman
of his grave profession.
When returning home of a night in this state, the little doctor's little
iron heels might be heard rap-rapping on the flag-stones at a great
distance in the quiet street, for he then planted them with still more
decision and vigour than when sober; and so well known in his
neighbourhood was the sound of his footsteps, so audible were they in
the stillness of the night, and so habitually late was he in returning
home--his profession forming an excellent excuse for this--that people,
even while sitting at their own firesides, or, it might be, in bed,
although at the height of three storeys, became aware, the moment they
heard his heels, that the doctor was passing beneath; and the
exclamations, "That's the doctor," or "There goes the doctor," announced
the important fact to many a family circle. All unconscious, however,
of these recognitions, the doctor stumped on his way, reflecting the
while, it might be, on the good cheer he had just been enjoying.
On these occasions, the doctor, while he kept the open street, got on
swimmingly; but the dark and somewhat tortuous staircase which he had to
ascend to reach his domicile--the said domicile being on the third
flat--used to annoy him sadly. When very much overcome, as, we grieve to
say it, the doctor very frequently was, the labour it cost him to make
out the three stairs was very serious. It was long protracted, too; it
took him an immense time; for, conscious of his unsteady condition, he
climbed slowly and deliberately, but we cannot add quietly; for his
shuffling, kicking, and blowing, to which he frequently added a muttered
objurgation or two on missing a step, as he struggled up the dark stair,
were distinctly audible to the whole land. By merely listening, they
could trace his whole progress with the utmost accuracy, from the moment
he entered the close, until the slam of a door announced that the doctor
was housed. They could hear him pass along the close--they could hear
him commence his laborious ascent--they could hear him struggling
upwards, and, anon, the point of his boot striking against a step, which
he had taken more surely than necessary--they could hear him gain the
landing-place at his own door, signified by a peculiar shuffle, which
almost seemed to express the intelligence that a great work had been
accomplished--they could hear the doctor fumbling amongst his keys and
loose coin for his check-key, and again fumbling with this check-key
about its aperture in the door, the hitting of the latter being a
tedious and apparently most difficult achievement--and, lastly, they
could hear the door flung to with great violence, announcing the finale
of the doctor's progress.
Over and above the more ordinary and obvious difficulties attending the
doctor's ascent on such occasions, and under such circumstances as those
of which we speak, there was one of a peculiar and particularly annoying
nature. This was the difficulty he found in discriminating his own
landing-place from the others,--a difficulty which was greatly increased
by the entire similarity of all the landing-places on the stair, the
doors in all of which were perfect counterparts of each other, and stood
exactly in the same relative positions. This difficulty often nonplussed
him sadly; but he at length fell upon a method of overcoming it, and of
ensuring his making attempts on no door but his own. He counted the
landing-places as he gained them, pausing a second or two on each to
draw breath, and impress its number on his memory,--one, two, three,
then out with the check-key.
Now this was all very well had the doctor continued to reckon
accurately; but, considering the state of obfuscation in which he
generally returned home at night, it was very possible that he might
miscount on an occasion, and take that for three which, according to
Cocker, was only two, or that for two which, by the same authority, was
but one. This was perfectly possible, as the sequel of our tale will
sufficiently prove. In the meantime, we proceed to other matters; and,
to make our history as complete as possible, we start anew with--