DR. PYE'S FRIEND, OF THE NAME OF VINSEN.
They went out together to ascertain who it was, and the man repeated
his question, and observed that it was very dark there.
"I'll get a light, sir," said Mrs. Death in an agitated tone. "I hope
you haven't brought me bad news."
"No," the man answered, "good news I trust you will find it. I have
come to attend to your little girl, who, I hear, has a bad attack of
bronchitis."
"Are you a doctor, sir?" she asked.
"Yes, I am a doctor," he answered. "Dr. Vinsen."
"It's very good of you, sir, and Gracie is suffering awfully, but I am
afraid there is some mistake. I didn't send for you."
"Now why did you not send for me," he said, in a tone of gentle
banter. "In the first place, because you don't know where I live.
In the second place, because you can't afford to pay me; but that
will not matter. Why should it? Dear, dear, dear! What is money?
Dross--nothing more. Never mind the light; I can see very well--very
well."
They were now in the room where the children were, who, sitting up in
bed, stared open-mouthed at the gentleman with his glossy silk hat and
his yellow kid gloves, and his double gold watchchain hanging across
his waistcoat. He was a portly gentleman, and when he took off his hat
he exhibited a bald head, with a yellow fringe of hair round it, like
a halo. His face was fleshy and of mild expression, his eyes rather
small and sleepy, and there was, in those features and in his general
appearance, an air of benevolent prosperity.
"Pictures," he said, looking at the coloured drawings on the table.
"Most interesting. And the artist?"
"My little girl, sir," said Mrs. Death, looking anxiously at him; "she
does it to amuse the children."
"Remarkably clever," he said. "_Re_-markably clever. Dear, dear, dear!
A budding genius--quite a bud-ding ge-nius. But time presses. Allow me
to explain."
"Won't you take a chair, sir?" said Mrs. Death, wiping one with her
apron, and placing it for him.
"Thank you. The explanation is as follows--as follows. A friend of
mine reading in the evening papers an account of your application at
the Bishop Street Police Court this morning--pray accept my sympathy,
my dear madam, my sym-pathy--and of the evident illness of the little
girl who accompanied you, has asked me to call and see if I can do
anything for you--anything for you." His habit of repeating his words,
and of occasionally splitting them into accented syllables, seemed to
fit in with his gentle voice and his generally benevolent air.
"May I inquire the name of your kind friend?" asked Mrs. Death.
"Certainly--cer-tainly," replied Dr. Vinsen. "It is Dr. Pye, of Shore
Street."
"The scientist," said Dick.
"The scientist," said Dr. Vinsen. "A man of science and a man of
heart. The two things are not incompatible--not incom-patible. He
asked me also to ascertain whether you have heard anything of your
husband."
"I have heard nothing of him, sir," said Mrs. Death, with a sob in her
throat.
"Sad, sad, sad! But have hope, my dear madam. There is a special
providence in the fall of a sparrow, and you may depend upon it that
this special providence is watching over you, and will bring your
husband back--your husband back." He turned to Dick. "Related to the
family, I presume?"
"No," said Dick, "I am here simply as a friend, to assist Mrs. Death
in her search for her husband."
"A very worthy endeavour. Would it be considered impertinent if I
inquired the name of the gentleman who evinces so deep an interest in
this very distressing matter?"
"My name is Dick Remington. I've grown so accustomed to Dick that I
should hardly know myself as Richard."
Dr. Vinsen's eyes gave faint indications of amusement--eyes so sleepy
could do no more than that--and he passed his hands over and over each
other, as though, like Miss Kilmansegg's father, he was washing them
with invisible soap in imperceptible water. At this point Gracie, who
had been trying with all her might and main to hold herself in, burst
into a furious fit of coughing. "Dear, dear, dear!" said Dr. Vinsen.
"Let us see what we can do for you, my child."
Taking a stethoscope out of his hat he proceeded to make an
examination of Gracie's lungs and chest, a proceeding which Gracie
viewed with indifference and the other children with awe. In the
course of his examination he made such comments, under his breath,
as--
"Dear, dear, dear! Nothing but skin and bone--but skin _and_ bone!
Sad, very sad! Neglected another week the result would have been--but
I will not distress you. Wrap yourself up, child. My dear madam, you
must keep little Gracie--sweet name--in bed for a few days. Doubtless
you have a bronchitis kettle."
"No, sir," said Mrs. Death, with a forlorn look.
"Don't you worry, mother," protested Gracie. "I don't want any
kettles. What's the use of kettles? _I'm_ all right, I am."
"No, my dear child," said Dr. Vinsen, "allow _me_ to know. You must
have a linseed poultice on--your mother will see to it--and when I
come again I will bring you some medicine. Permit me, Mrs. Death--a
few words in private--a corner of the room will do."
They withdrew into a corner, and Dick heard the chink of coin.
"I will call to-morrow," said Dr. Vinsen, the private conference
ended, "to see how we are getting on--how we are get-ting on. Nay, my
dear madam--tears!--summon your fortitude, your strength of mind--but
still, a gratifying tribute--a gra-ti-fy-ing tri-bute." Hat in hand,
he shook hands with all in the room, a ceremony attended by
considerable difficulty in consequence of the shyness of the children,
but he would not let them off. "Dear, dear, dear! One, two, three,
four, five, six, and our little Gracie makes seven--really, my dear
madam, really! Good evening, Mr.--Mr.--dear me, my memory!"
"Dick Remington," said Dick.
"To be sure. Mr. Dick Remington. Good evening." Mrs. Death, candle in
hand, waited to light him down. "So kind of you, but the passages
_are_ rather dark." Those left in the darkened room heard his voice
dying away in the words, "_Are_ ra-ther dark."
When Mrs. Death re-entered the room, her face was flushed. Beckoning
Dick aside she said in an excited tone, "He has given me two
sovereigns. God bless him! It is like a light shining upon me. If only
I could find my husband! Children, be good, and you shall have
something nice for supper."
"I'll run and get the linseed for you," said Dick, "while you put
Gracie to bed."
He was soon back, and Mrs. Death met him in the passage.
"I can manage now, sir, thank you," she said, "but Gracie wants to wish
you good night."
Gracie coming to the door with an old blanket round her, he bent down
and put his lips to her white face.
"_That's_ what I wanted," she whispered, and kissed him. "You're a
good sort, you are." He slipped a paper bag into her hand. "What's
this for?"
"Brandy balls for the young 'uns," he answered, and scudded away.
"Oh, you _are_ a one!" she shouted hoarsely.
"God bless you, Gracie!" he shouted back.
"That's a windfall for Mrs. Death," he muttered when he was clear of
Draper's Mews, "and may be the saving of Gracie. Dear little mite!
Almost a skeleton, and the heart of a lion. Learn a lesson from her,
Dick, and meet your own troubles like a man, and do your work, my lad,
like one. It's brutal to be ungrateful, but still
"I do not like thee, Dr. Fell,
The reason why I cannot tell,
But this I know, and know full well,
I do not like thee, Dr. Fell."
Now, who could Dick have been referring to as he repeated these lines
with a thoughtful face? Certainly not to Dr. Fell. He was not
acquainted with that gentleman.