TEN THOUSAND DOLLARS.
Early in March, as I was one Saturday morning seated with my aunt in
her pleasant, cozy sewing-room, a little boy brought me a note from
Dell Clayton, in which she requested me, if possible, to spend the
afternoon with her. She was sick, she wrote, unable to sit up, and
what was worse than all, she was homesick and unhappy! Her aunt, she
said, was out of the city, and as she had no acquaintance, she
thought the sight of a familiar face would do her good.
Aunt Charlotte, to whom I handed the note, consented to my going, and
immediately after dinner, which that day was served at an earlier
hour than usual, I started. Long and daily walks have always been to
me a luxury, and so, though I had been but a few months in Boston, I
was tolerably well acquainted with most of its localities, and had no
trouble in finding the once stylish, but now rather dilapidated and
gloomy looking block, in one part of which Dr. Clayton was keeping
house. Since the night when I met him at the theater, I had never
seen him, and all that I knew of him was that he had left the
Tremont. Subsequently, however, I heard the whole history of their
proceedings--partly from the doctor, partly from Dell, and partly
from other sources, and as a recital of it may not be wholly
uninteresting to my readers, I will give it before proceeding with a
description of my call.
It seems that boarding at the Tremont was rather too expensive for a
physician, whose patients were not so numerous as to be troublesome,
and several times had the doctor proposed returning to his old place
in Sturbridge, where everything was cheaper; but to this Dell
objected, for she well knew it would be an admission that they could
not succeed in Boston, and against this her pride revolted. "People
at home," she reasoned, "would never know how matters really were,
and as long as she could keep up an appearance of gentility and
upper-ten-dom with her former friends, she should do so," preferring,
like many others, almost absolute want in the city, to plenty in the
country. From this, the reader is not to infer that the doctor was
extremely poor; for when he first went to Boston he was worth about
fifteen hundred dollars, which, in a country village, with a prudent
wife, would have surrounded him with all the comforts of life,
besides leaving him with something for that "rainy day," about which
everybody blessed with a careful grandmother has heard more or less.
In the city of course, it needed a great deal of money to keep up the
kind of style upon which Dell insisted, and which, after all, was far
from satisfying her--it was so much inferior to the elegance she saw
around her; and as check after check of the doctor's little hoard was
drawn from the bank to meet their expenses, while but few would get
sick, or being so would send for him, his heart sank within him, and
without really meaning to do so, he began to wonder "when that old
grandmother would die!" Finding that he could not much longer pay
the enormous bills, which were presented to him weekly at the
Tremont, he decided at last upon housekeeping, and exercising in this
case his own judgment, in spite of the tears, sulks, and
remonstrances of his wife, he hired a house in an obscure street,
where the rents were much lower than in the more fashionable part of
the city. Very neatly he fitted it up, going rather beyond his
means, it is true, but depending a great deal upon the fast failing
health of Grandmother Barton, to set all things right.
Everything was at last arranged, and with that comfortable feeling
which other men have experienced in similar circumstances, he took
his seat for the first time at his own table, forgetting in his
happiness that the smiling, handsome face of the lady opposite, in
blue merino morning gown and clean white linen collar, had ever worn
any look save that which now sat upon it. Breakfast was hardly over,
when the door-bell rang violently and a man appeared telling the
doctor that his services were required immediately by the wealthy
Mrs. Archer, who lived in an adjoining street, and who owned the
entire block in which he lived.
Mrs. Archer belonged to that class of people who are always dying,
first with one fancied disease and then with another, in the end,
however, living much longer than those whose business it is to
minister to their wants. Being freakish and whimsical, she seldom
employed the same physician longer than a year, but during that time
a man with limited wants was sure of a livelihood, for his services
were required every day, and the remuneration for the same was so
prompt and liberal as to make her patronage much sought after,
particularly by new practitioners. Having taken a violent fancy to
Dr. Clayton when he bargained with her for the house, she had decided
henceforth to employ him, if on trial he proved to be all she wished.
The doctor was well aware of her peculiarities, and for several days
past had indulged a faint hope that she might favor him with a call.
This she had now done, and very eagerly he prepared to visit her. As
he reached his gates he was met by a boy who brought a telegraphic
despatch from Wilbraham, saying that _Grandma Barton was dead_! Yes,
the old lady was gone, and Dell was undoubtedly the heiress of ten
thousand dollars at least, and probably more, for her grandmother
bore the reputation of being miserly, and rumor said that twice ten
thousand was nearer the actual sum of her possessions. To ascertain
the truth as soon as possible was the doctor's great desire, and as
the next train bound for the east started in about two hours, he
decided to go at once, though the funeral was not to take place for
two or three days.
Suddenly Mrs. Archer's message occurred to him, but matters were now
changed--he was a rich man, and as such Mrs. Archer's patronage was
not of vital importance. Still it would hardly do to slight her, and
rather unwillingly he bent his steps towards her dwelling. When
there he appeared so abrupt and absent-minded, telling her there was
nothing whatever the matter with her as he could see, that the good
lady was wholly disgusted, and the moment he was gone, she despatched
the servant for another physician, who, possessing more tact, and not
having recently come into the possession of a fortune, told her with
a grave, concerned look, that "he never saw anything like her
case--it really baffled his skill, though he thought he _could_ cure
her, and it would give him pleasure to try."
Of course he was employed, and just as Dr. Clayton and Dell were
stepping into the omnibus, which took them to the dépôt, a note was
handed to the former, saying his services were no longer needed by
Mrs. Archer. Without giving it a thought, the doctor crushed the
note into his pocket, and then springing into the carriage, took his
seat by Dell, to whom he was unusually attentive, for she had risen
in his estimation full _ten thousand dollars' worth_, and what man,
for that sum of money, would not occasionally endure a cross look, or
a peevish word! Not the doctor most certainly; and when on reaching
the dépôt, they found that the cars would not leave for half an hour
or more, he could not resist her entreaties to go with her to a
jeweler's, on ---- street, where the day before she had "seen such a
beautiful set of cameos, earrings, bracelet, and pin to match--then,
too, they were so cheap, only $50. She knew he would buy them!"
'Twas in vain for him to say that he had not fifty dollars for she
replied, that "he could take it from the bank and replace it when she
got her fortune;" adding, "I'll give you a hundred in place of it: so
gratify me this once, that's a dear, good man."
Of course, the _dear good man_ was persuaded as many another dear
good man has been, and will be again by a coaxing woman. The cameos
were bought, and in the best of humor the young couple took their
seats in the cars which were soon bearing them swiftly towards the
house of death. Very pleasant were the doctor's reflections as the
train sped on over valley and plain: he was a fortunate, happy man,
and if when they paused at the Meadow Brook station he thought for an
instant of the girl Rosa Lee, her memory was to him like an idle
dream, which had passed away in the _golden_ beams of day. Arrived
at Wilbraham dépôt, they took a carriage for the village, which is
about two miles or more from the railroad.
The old brown shutters of the large wooden building, where Mrs.
Barton had lived and died, were closed, and about the house there was
no sign of life. But this was hardly different from what it had been
during the old lady's life, for she was one who lived mostly within
herself, seldom seeing company, though always sure to go whenever she
was invited. Exceedingly penurious, she stinted her household to the
last degree of endurance, and denied herself even the comforts of
life, while her last request had been that her body might be suffered
to remain in her sleeping-room, so as not to litter up the parlor, or
wear the carpet!
At the head of the family was Mabel Warrener, a poor young girl, who
for three years had lived with Mrs. Barton in the capacity of half
waiting-maid, half companion, and to her the neighbors now looked for
directions. Anxious to pay all due deference to the wishes of her
late mistress, Mabel at first said, "Let the body remain where it
is;" but when she reflected that "the fashionable Mrs. Clayton from
Boston," with her proud husband (for so were they considered), would
probably be there, she changed her mind, and the deceased was carried
into the dark, damp parlor, where a fire had not been kindled for
more than a year. The same was also true of the chamber above, which
was designed for the doctor and his lady, the latter of whom shivered
as she entered it, rather haughtily bidding Mabel, who accompanied
her, "to make a fire there as soon as possible, for she was not
accustomed to cold rooms, and should freeze to death."
Very meekly Mabel complied, not only with this requisition, but with
fifty others from the same source; for Dell, thinking she was now
mistress of the house, took upon herself many airs, ordering this,
that, and the other, until the neighbors, quite disgusted, left poor
Mabel alone, with the exception of the deaf old woman, who ruled in
the kitchen as cook. The morning following the arrival of the
doctor, Capt. Thompson, wife, and son came out from Sturbridge to
attend the funeral; for though they were in no way connected with
Mrs. Barton, they knew her well, and wished to pay her this last
tribute of respect. Then, too, Mrs. Thompson was very desirous of
seeing Dell, who was now an heiress, and as such entitled to
attention. Long they talked together concerning the future, Dell
telling how she meant "to fix up the old rookery for a summer
residence," and inviting her sister-in-law to spend as much time with
her as she possibly could. The cameos were next duly inspected,
admired, tried on, and then the two went down to the room below, and
turning back the thin muslin which shaded the face of the dead, gazed
upon the pinched, stony features which seemed so much to reproach
them for their cold-hearted selfishness, in thus planning ways and
means by which to spend her hoarded wealth even before she was buried
from their sight.
That afternoon there was heard a tolling bell, and along procession
moved slowly to the churchyard, where the words "ashes to ashes--dust
to dust," and the sound of the hard frozen earth, rattling upon the
coffin-lid, broke the solemn stillness, but disturbed not the rest of
those, who, henceforth, would be the fellow-sleepers of her now
committed to the grave. When the party of mourners had returned to
the house, the doctor began to speak of the necessity there was for
his returning immediately to the city, at the same time hinting to
Capt. Thompson that "if there was a _will_, he would like to see it."
Mabel Warrener, who was supposed to know more than any one else
concerning Mrs. Barton's affairs, was called in and questioned, she
replying that "her mistress, one day, about two weeks before her
death, had said to her that if, after her death, an inquiry should be
made concerning her will, it could be found in the private drawer of
her secretary, where was also a letter for Mrs. Clayton." Both of
these were brought out, and with her handkerchief over her eyes, Dell
listened while Capt. Thompson read aloud the astounding fact that the
entire possessions of Mrs. Barton, amounting to $15,000, were given
to MABEL WARRENER, who, having had no suspicion whatever of the
fortune in store for her, fainted away, and was borne from the room,
as was also Dell; while the doctor, it was confidently asserted, went
out behind the woodshed and actually _vomited_, so great was his
disappointment! Soon rallying, however, both he and his wife
declared it a fraud, accusing the still unconscious Mabel of
treachery, and it was not until the lawyer who had drawn the will was
produced, that they could be convinced. Suddenly remembering her
letter, Dell broke it open and found therein the reasons for this
most unaccountable freak. Always peculiar and naturally jealous,
Mrs. Barton had felt piqued that she was not invited to Dell's
wedding, which, considering that she was spending the summer in
Albany at the time when it took place, was not very remarkable.
Then, too, she was not consulted, and she didn't believe in doctors,
they killed more than they cured; but the head and front of the
offense seemed to be that instead of hiring two or three rooms and
keeping house in a small, economical way, they _boarded_ at the
Tremont, where Dell had nothing to do but "to change her dress, eat,
sleep, and _laze_"--so the letter ran--"and she (Mrs. Barton) would
not suffer a penny of her money to go for the support of such
extravagance: she preferred giving it to Mabel Warrener, who was a
prudent, saving girl, and would take care of it; while the paltry
doctor would spend it for cigars, fast horses, patent leather boots,
and all sorts of fooleries."
The letter ended with an exhortation to Dell to "go to work and earn
her own living, as her grandmother had done before her."
The doctor's reflections, as he rode back to Boston, were not of the
most enviable nature; and who can wonder if he was rather testy
towards his wife, who retorted so angrily as to bring on quite a
sharp quarrel, which was prevented from being heard by the roar of
the machinery; and if at _Meadow Brook_ he _did_ think again of Rosa
Lee, half fancying that 5,000 divided by 13, if shared with _her_,
might be preferable to _nothing_ divided by _nothing_, shared with
Dell; who can blame him? Not _I_, most certainly. Wasn't he
terribly disappointed? Hadn't he just lost $15,000, to say nothing
of a patient, whose patronage would have insured him a living for at
least a year, besides introducing him into a broader field of
practise; and if the cameo earrings _were_ rather becoming to the
dark hair and black eyes of his wife, did that in any way compensate
him for the fifty dollars which stood on the Cr. side of his
bank-book? Still, I see no good reason why, after their arrival home
at a late hour of the night, they should sit up for more than an hour
in a cold, cheerless room, telling each other--the one that she
wished she had never married him, for "he alone stood in the way of
her inheritance;" while the other replied, that "but for her
extravagance he should now have had $1,500 in the bank instead of
five hundred."
Wretched couple! Their history is like that of many others, who
marry without a particle of love, or at most, only a passing fancy.
Had Dell chosen, she could in time have won the affection of her
husband, but being naturally selfish and exacting, she expected from
him every attention; while in return she seldom gave him aught save
cross looks and peevish words, complaining that he did not treat her
now as he once had done. As long as the doctor had a fortune in
expectancy, he bore his wife's ill humor tolerably well, but now that
hope was gone, his whole being seemed changed, and Dell was not often
obliged to quarrel alone.
At last, broken in spirits, and being really sick, she had sent for
me, as I have before stated. I found her in bed, propped up on
pillows, her shining hair combed back, and her large black eyes
seeming blacker than ever, from contrast with her colorless cheek.
All her old haughtiness was gone, and the moment she saw me she
stretched her arms towards me, and bursting into tears, exclaimed,
"Oh, Rose, I am so glad you have come. I was afraid you wouldn't,
for I knew your aunt was very aristocratic, and I thought she might
not be willing to have you visit poor, obscure people like us."
There was much of bitterness in the last part of this speech, and it
grated harshly upon my feelings; but it was like her, I knew, and she
had only judged my aunt by what she well knew she should herself be
in a similar position; so I took no notice of it, save to assure her
that Aunt Charlotte was perfectly willing I should come, while at the
same time I expressed my sorrow at finding her so unwell, and asked
"what was the matter."
"Oh, nothing much," said she. "I have no particular disease, unless
it be one of the mind, and that you know is not easily cured."
I made no answer to this; but after a moment's silence, I ventured to
inquire for her husband. Instantly there came a bright glow to her
cheek, as she replied, "Oh, he is as well as could be expected,
considering his terrible disappointment."
Of course I asked what disappointment, whereupon she proceeded to
narrate a part of what I have already told to my readers, withholding
nearly all the points wherein she had been to blame, and dwelling
with apparent delight upon the faults of her husband, who, she
protested, was wholly selfish and avaricious. "I know," said she,
"why he married me; 'twas for the sake of the few dollars he thought
my grandmother would leave me, and now being disappointed in that, he
cares no more for me than he does for you--no, nor half so much, for
he always preferred you to me, and I wish I had let you have him, for
you liked him, I know, better than I did."
As she said this, she looked me steadily in the face, as if to read
my inmost soul. I felt provoked, for I now thought of my former
affection for the doctor as something of which I was _a little
ashamed_, and I did not much like to be reminded of it by his wife.
So I ventured to say that "whatever I might once have felt for her
husband, it was all over now, and I could think of no greater
misfortune than that of being his wife!"
Now, I should know better than to speak thus to any woman concerning
her husband, for however much she may talk against him herself, she
certainly has no desire or expectation that her listener will agree
with her. On this occasion, Dell grew angry at once, telling me "I
needn't speak so lightly of her husband--he was good enough for
anybody," while at the same time she muttered something about "sour
grapes!"
I was taken quite aback, and remained silent, until she at last said,
laughingly, "I don't wish to quarrel with you, Rose. Pardon any ill
humor I may have manifested. I get nervous and fidgety staying here
alone so much."
"Is not the doctor with you sometimes?" I inquired.
"Oh, yes; once in a great while," said she; "but he can bear the
atmosphere of any other sick-room better than mine. So he's
off--hunting up patients, I suppose. I tell him he gets his living
that way, and a poor living it bids fair to be. Between you and me,
Rose," she continued, growing excited, "he is _shiftless_, if you
know what that means, and we are worth to-day just as much as we ever
shall be."
I felt that she wronged him, and told her so, at the same time
enumerating his many good qualities, while she listened, evidently
better pleased than when I had spoken lightly of him. In the midst
of our conversation there was a familiar step in the hall, and a
moment after the doctor himself entered the room. He looked
care-worn and haggard; but at the sight of me, whose presence
surprised him, his face quickly lighted up, and there was much of his
olden manner as he took my hand and expressed his pleasure at finding
me there. 'Twas but for a moment, however, for catching the eye of
his wife, he became almost instantly reserved, and seating himself
near a window, he pretended to be much occupied with a book, which I
accidentally discovered was wrong side up! It was strange how much
waiting-upon Dell suddenly needed. Heretofore she had been very
quiet, saying she did not wish for anything, but now that he was
there, her pillows must be turned, her head must be bathed, the
window must be opened and then shut, while with every other breath,
she declared him to be "the awkwardest man she ever saw," saying
once, "she didn't wonder he had no more practise if he handled all
his patients as roughly as he did her."
After this unkind speech, the doctor made no farther attempt to
please her, but left her side and returned to his seat by the window.
Ere long the supper bell rang. I had not supposed it was so late,
and starting up announced my intention of going home, but to this
neither the doctor nor Dell would listen, both of them insisting upon
my staying to tea; she, because she felt that common civility
required it, and he, because he really wished it. Once out of her
sight, he was himself again, and playfully drawing my arm within his,
he led me to the dining-room, placing me at the head of the table,
where Dell was accustomed to sit, while he took the seat opposite.
As we sat there thus, I shall not say that there came to my mind no
thought of what might have been, but I can say, and truthfully too,
that such thoughts brought with them naught of pain; for though Dr.
Clayton had once possessed the power of swaying me at his will, that
time had gone by, and he was to me now only a friend, whom I both
liked and pitied, for I knew he was far from being happy. Once, when
I handed him his second cup of tea, he said, smiling upon me, "It
makes me very happy to see you there--in that seat."
I made no answer; and, as if thinking he had said what he ought not,
he immediately changed the conversation, and began to question me of
my studies, etc., asking me among other things, if I went to
dancing-school. Instantly I remembered Mrs. Ross's slippers with the
little wads of cotton, and I laughed aloud. It seems his thoughts
took the same direction, for he, too, laughed so loudly that when we
returned to Dell's room, she rather pettishly inquired what we found
to amuse us so much, saying "she hadn't seen the doctor look so
pleased since--since, well, since grandma's death," she finally
added, at the same time glancing at him to witness the effect of her
words.
He turned very white about the mouth, and I am quite certain I heard
the word "_thunder!_" At all events, his eyes flashed angrily upon
the provoking woman, who again inquired at what we were laughing.
When I told her, she too laughed, saying, "Oh, yes, I remember it
well, and have sometimes thought that I owe my present position to
that awkward misstep of yours."
"I am very glad I fell, then," said I, rather impatiently, while I
threw on my hood and shawl, preparatory to going home.
"Hadn't you better call an omnibus for her?" asked Dell of her
husband, who was putting on his overshoes.
"I am going round with her myself," he answered. "I have a patient
on the way," and he hurried from the room ere she could say anything
further.
It was a beautiful moonlight night, and as I took his arm I recalled
the time when once before we had walked thus together. I think he
remembered it too, for he asked me "if I ever visited Pine District?"
"Not often," I replied; and he continued to say, that
"notwithstanding that it was little more than a year and a half since
he first saw me there, it seemed to him an age," adding; "and it is
not strange either, for I have passed through many trials since then."
To this I made no reply, and ere long he proceeded to speak further
of himself, and of his disappointment, first with regard to his
business, and next with regard to his domestic relations, which he
gave me to understand were not particularly happy. Very delicately
and carefully he handled the latter subject, speaking not one-half so
harshly of Dell as she had spoken of him. Still I felt that he had
no right thus to speak to me, and so I told him.
"I know it, Rose," he returned. "I know it all; but for this once
you must hear me, and I will never trouble you again. I committed a
great error in marrying one, while my heart belonged to
another--stay," he continued, as I was about to interrupt him. "You
must hear me out. It is not of my love for _that other_ that I would
speak; but, Rose, I would know how far I have wronged you. _Did_ you
love me, and had I asked you to share my home, when at a suitable
age, would you have done so?"
He was very pale, and the arm on which my hand was resting, trembled
violently, but grew still when he heard my answer, which was, "I
_did_ love you, but 'twas a childish love and quickly passed away.
And were you now free as you once were, I could be to you nothing
save a friend."
There was a mixture of disappointment and pleasure on his face; but
he replied, "I am glad that it is so, and shall now feel happier, for
the hardest part of all was the though that possibly _you, too_,
might suffer."
"Not at all," I answered, adding, "it would be foolish to break my
heart for one man, when there are so many in the world."
This I said with bitterness, for I remembered the time when I had
wept in the shadowy woods of Meadow Brook, and if for a moment I
experienced a feeling of satisfaction in knowing that what _I_
suffered then, _he_ was suffering now, I can only plead woman's
nature as an apology. 'Twas but for a moment, however, and then,
casting off all such feelings, I spoke to him kindly of his wife,
telling him he could be happy with her if he tried, and that if he
were not, it was probably as much his fault as hers. Brighter days,
too, would come, I said, when his practise would not be limited to
_three_ patients, one of whom was too poor to pay, and another was
already convalescent, while the third was in the last stages of her
disease, and would need his services but a few days longer.
"You are my good angel, Rose," said he, when at last we reached my
uncle's door, "and your words inspire me with courage. Come and see
us often, for the sight of you does me good, and God knows how much I
stand in need of sympathy. Farewell."
He pressed my hand, and hastily raising it to his lips, turned away,
dreading, as I well knew, a return to the sick-room, where naught
would greet him save reproachful complaints, and where the dark eyes,
which had first won his admiration, would flash angrily upon him. In
the hall, I stood for a time, pondering in my mind some way by which
I could assist him, and I even thought of feigning sickness myself
for the sake of adding another patient to his list! But this, I
knew, he would easily detect, and possibly he might misconstrue my
motive for so doing, and this project was abandoned, and I entered
the parlor in quest of my aunt, who, I learned from one of the
servants, was in her own room, suffering from a severe headache. She
had taken a violent cold, which, by the next morning, had developed
itself into a species of influenza, at that time prevailing in the
city. Added to this was a general debility and prostration of the
nerves, brought on by her recent trouble and anxiety concerning
Herbert.
My uncle, who was always alarmed when she was ill, wished for medical
advice; but to this she objected, as Dr. Mott, the family physician,
was absent, and she knew of no other, whom she dare trust. Instantly
I thought of Dr. Clayton. If she could be prevailed upon to employ
him, I knew she would like him, for I could testify to his extreme
kindness in a sick-room, and good nursing was what she most needed.
When I suggested that he should be called, she at first refused; but
before night, being much worse, she consented, and never had I
experienced a moment of greater happiness than when I hastened to the
kitchen with a message for John, who was to go immediately for Dr.
Clayton. Then taking my uncle aside, I explained to him the
straitened circumstances of the young physician, hinting to him that
prompt remuneration for his services would undoubtedly be acceptable.
"Yes, yes, I understand," said he; "you want me to pay him to-day."
Here we were interrupted by the ringing of the doorbell. Dr. Clayton
had come, and the result was as I had hoped. My aunt was greatly
pleased--he was so kind and gentle, humoring all her fancies, and
evincing withal so much judgment and skill that she felt confidence
in his abilities; and when he was gone, expressed herself as
preferring him even to Dr. Mott, "who," she said, "was getting old
and cross."
As he was leaving the house, my uncle placed in his hand a
five-dollar bill, whereupon the doctor turned very red, and asked if
he were not expected to call again.
"Certainly, certainly," said my uncle, who, manlike, hadn't the least
bit of tact; "keep coming until Charlotte is well. I only paid you
for this call to please Rosa."
Instead of the displeased, mortified look, which I expected to see on
the doctor's face, there was an expression of deep gratitude, as he
turned his eyes towards me; and I thought there was a moisture in
them, which surprised me, for I did not then know how much that five
dollars was needed: it being the exact amount requisite for the
payment of the girl, who refused to remain with them another day
unless her wages were forthcoming. To such straits are people,
apparently in easy circumstances, sometimes reduced.
For more than a week my aunt was confined to her room, while the
doctor came regularly, always staying a long time, and by his
delicate attentions winning golden laurels from his patient, who was
far better pleased with him than with the fussy old man, who, being
always in a hurry, only stopped for a moment, while he looked at her
_tongue_, felt her _pulse_, and recommended _blistering_ and
_bleeding_, with a dose of _calomel_, neither of which Dr. Clayton
believed to be a _saving ordinance_, and indispensable to the
_comfort_ and recovery of his patients. By this, I do not mean
anything derogatory to the good old custom of tormenting folks to
death before their time, but having a faint remembrance of certain
_blisters_, which, together with _cabbage leaves_ and the _tallowed
rags_, once kept me in a state of torture for nearly a week, to say
nothing of the _sore mouth_, the _loose teeth_, and the
tightly-bandaged arm, I cannot help experiencing a kind of nervous
tremor at the very mention of said prescriptions.
Dr. Clayton's attendance upon my aunt was a great benefit to him, as,
through its means, he became known to several of the higher circle,
who began to employ him, so that by the last of May, the time when I
left Boston for Meadow Brook, he had quite a large practise. For
some reason or other, Mrs. Archer, too, sent for him again; and as he
had now no ten thousand dollars in prospect, he succeeded in pleasing
the whimsical lady, thereby securing her patronage for a year at
least. Here, for a time, I leave him, while I go back to the dear
old home at Meadow Brook, over which a shadow, dark and heavy, was
brooding.