In another part of this history we have stated that the doctor, being
generally liked, was much invited out to feastings and merry-makings,
and convivialities of all sorts, from the aristocratic roast turkey and
bottle of port, to the plebeian Findhorn haddock and jug of toddy. But
all, in this way, was fish that came in the doctor's net. Provided there
was quantity--particularly in the liquor department--he was not much
given to shying at quality. He certainly preferred wine, but by no means
turned up his nose at a tumbler. Few men, in fact, could empty more at a
sitting.
It was observed of the doctor, by those who knew him intimately, that he
was always in bad humour on what he called blank days. These were days
on which he had no invitation on hand for any description of guzzle
whatever--either dinner, tea, supper, or a "just come up and take a
glass of toddy in the evening." This seldom occurred, but it did
sometimes happen; and on these occasions the doctor's short and snappish
answers gave sufficient intimation of the provoking fact.
In such temper, then, and for such reason, was the doctor in the
forenoon of the particular day in his life which we have made the
subject of this paper. He was as cross as an old drill-sergeant; and
what made him worse, the affair he had been at on the preceding night
had been a very poor one. He had been hinted away after the third
tumbler--treatment which had driven the doctor to swear, mentally, that
he would never enter the house again. How far he would keep this
determination, it remained for another invitation to prove.
In this mood, then, and at the time already alluded to, was the doctor
employed, behind his counter, in measuring off some liquid in a
graduated glass, which he held between him and the light, and on which
he was looking very intently, as the liquid was precious, the quantity
wanted small, and the glass but faintly marked, when a little boy
entered the shop, and inquired if Dr. Dobbie was within.
"Yes. What do you want?" replied the doctor gruffly, and without taking
his eye off the graduated glass.
"Here's a line for ye, sir," said the boy, laying a card on the counter.
"Who's it from?" roared the doctor.
"Frae Mr. Walkinshaw, sir," replied the boy, meekly; "and he would like
to ken whether ye can come or no."
"Come; oh, surely. Let me see," said the doctor. "Come; ay, certainly,"
he added, his tone suddenly dropping down to the mild and affable, and
speaking from an intuitive knowledge of the tenor of the card. "Surely;
let me see." And the doctor opened the note and read, his eyes gloating,
and his countenance dissolving into smiles, as he did so:--
"DEAR DOCTOR,--A few friends at half-past eight. Just a haddock
and a jug of toddy. Be as pointed as you can. Won't be kept
_very_ late. Dear Doctor, yours truly,
"R. WALKINSHAW."
"My compliments to Mr. Walkinshaw," said the doctor, with a bland smile,
and folding up the card with a sort of affectionate air as he spoke,
"and tell him I will be pointed. Stop, boy," he added, on the latter's
being about to depart with his message; "stop," he said, running towards
his till, and thence abstracting threepence, which he put into the boy's
hand, with a--"There, my boy, take that to buy marbles." The doctor
always rewarded such messengers; but he did so systematically, and by a
rule of his own. For an invitation to breakfast he gave a penny, thus
estimating that meal at all but the lowest possible rate; for an
invitation to dinner he gave sixpence; for one to supper, threepence, as
exemplified in the instance above.
In possession of Mr. Walkinshaw's invitation, the doctor continued in
excellent spirits throughout the remainder of the day.