In a story, as in a voyage, one must occasionally travel with
uncongenial companions. Now I have no reason for hoping that any of my
readers care to keep Dr. Dill's company, and yet it is with Dr. Dill we
must now for a brief space foregather. He was on his way to visit his
patient at the “Fisherman's Home,” having started, intentionally very
early, to be there before Stapylton could have interposed with any
counsels of removing him to Kilkenny.
The world, in its blind confidence in medical skill, and its unbounded
belief in certain practitioners of medicine, is but scantily just to the
humbler members of the craft in regard to the sensitiveness with
which they feel the withdrawal of a patient from their care, and the
substitution of another physician. The doctor who has not only heard,
but felt Babington's adage, that the difference between a good physician
and a bad one is only “the difference between a pound and a guinea,”
naturally thinks it a hard thing that his interests are to be sacrificed
for a mere question of five per cent. He knows, besides, that they can
each work on the same materials with the same tools, and it can be only
through some defect in his self-confidence that he can bring himself to
believe that the patient's chances are not pretty much alike in _his_
hands or his rival's. Now Dr. Dill had no feelings of this sort; no
undervaluing of himself found a place in his nature. He regarded medical
men as tax-gatherers, and naturally thought it mattered but little which
received the impost; and, thus reflecting, he bore no good will towards
that gallant Captain, who, as we have seen, stood so well in his
daughter's favor. Even hardened men of the world--old footsore pilgrims
of life--have their prejudices, and one of these is to be pleased at
thinking they had augured unfavorably of any one they had afterwards
learned to dislike. It smacks so much of acuteness to be able to say,
“I was scarcely presented to him; we had not exchanged a dozen
sentences when I saw this, that, and t' other.” Dill knew this man
was overbearing, insolent, and oppressive, that he was meddlesome and
interfering, giving advice unasked for, and presuming to direct where no
guidance was required. He suspected he was not a man of much fortune; he
doubted he was a man of good family. All his airs of pretensions--very
high and mighty they were--did not satisfy the doctor. As he said
himself, he was a very old bird, but he forgot to add that he had always
lived in an extremely small cage.
The doctor had to leave his horse on the high-road and take a small
footpath, which led through some meadows till it reached the little
copse of beech and ilex that sheltered the cottage and effectually hid
it from all view from the road. The doctor had just gained the last
stile, when he suddenly came upon a man repairing a fence, and whose
labors were being overlooked by Miss Barrington. He had scarcely uttered
his most respectful salutations, when she said, “It is, perhaps, the
last time you will take that path through the Lock Meadow, Dr. Dill. We
mean to close it up after this week.”
“Close it up, dear lady!--a right of way that has existed Heaven knows
how long. I remember it as a boy myself.”
“Very probably, sir, and what you say vouches for great antiquity; but
things may be old and yet not respectable. Besides, it never was what
you have called it,--a right of way. If it was, where did it go to?”
“It went to the cottage, dear lady. The 'Home' was a mill in those
days.”
“Well, sir, it is no longer a mill, and it will soon cease to be an
inn.”
“Indeed, dear lady! And am I to hope that I may congratulate such kind
friends as you have ever been to me on a change of fortune?”
“Yes, sir; we have grown so poor that, to prevent utter destitution, we
have determined to keep a private station; and with reference to that,
may I ask you when this young gentleman could bear removal without
injury?”
“I have not seen him to-day, dear lady; but judging from the
inflammatory symptoms I remarked yesterday, and the great nervous
depression--”
“I know nothing about medicine, sir; but if the nervous depression be
indicated by a great appetite and a most noisy disposition, his case
must be critical.”
“Noise, dear lady!”
“Yes, sir; assisted by your son, he sat over his wine till past
midnight, talking extremely loudly, and occasionally singing. They have
now been at breakfast since ten o'clock, and you will very soon be
able to judge by your own ears of the well-regulated pitch of the
conversation.”
“My son, Miss Dinah! Tom Dill at breakfast here?”
“I don't know whether his name be Tom or Harry, sir, nor is it to the
purpose; but he is a red-haired youth, with a stoop in the shoulders,
and a much-abused cap.”
Dill groaned over a portrait which to him was a photograph.
“I 'll see to this, dear lady. This shall be looked into,” muttered he,
with the purpose of a man who pledged himself to a course of action; and
with this he moved on. Nor had he gone many paces from the spot when he
heard the sound of voices, at first in some confusion, but afterwards
clearly and distinctly.
“I 'll be hanged if I 'd do it, Tom,” cried the loud voice of Conyers.
“It's all very fine talking about paternal authority and all that, and
so long as one is a boy there's no help for it; but you and I are men.
We have a right to be treated like men, have n't we?”
“I suppose so,” muttered the other, half sulkily, and not exactly seeing
what was gained by the admission.
“Well, that being so,” resumed Conyers, “I'd say to the governor, 'What
allowance are you going to make me?'”
“Did you do that with your father?” asked Tom, earnestly.
“No, not exactly,” stammered out the other. “There was not, in fact, any
need for it, for my governor is a rare jolly fellow,--such a trump! What
he said to me was, 'There's a check-book, George; don't spare it.'”
“Which was as much as to say, 'Draw what you like.'”
“Yes, of course. He knew, in leaving it to my honor, there was no risk
of my committing any excess; so you see there was no necessity to make
my governor 'book up.' But if I was in your place I 'd do it. I pledge
you my word I would.”
Tom only shook his head very mournfully, and made no answer. He felt,
and felt truly, that there is a worldly wisdom learned only in poverty
and in the struggles of narrow fortune, of which the well-to-do know
absolutely nothing. Of what avail to talk to him of an unlimited credit,
or a credit to be bounded only by a sense of honor? It presupposed so
much that was impossible, that he would have laughed if his heart had
been but light enough.
“Well, then,” said Conyers, “if you have n't courage for this, let me do
it; let me speak to your father.”
“What could you say to him?” asked Tom, doggedly.
“Say to him?--what could I say to him?” repeated he, as he lighted a
fresh cigar, and affected to be eagerly interested in the process. “It's
clear enough what I 'd say to him.”
“Let us hear it, then,” growled out Tom, for he had a sort of coarse
enjoyment at the other's embarrassment. “I 'll be the doctor now, and
listen to you.” And with this he squared his chair full in front of
Conyers, and crossed his arms imposingly on his chest “You said you
wanted to speak to me about my son Tom, Mr. Conyers; what is it you have
to say?”
“Well, I suppose I'd open the matter delicately, and, perhaps, adroitly.
I 'd say, 'I have remarked, doctor, that your son is a young fellow of
very considerable abilities--'”
“For what?” broke in Tom, huskily.
“Come, you 're not to interrupt in this fashion, or I can't continue. I
'd say something about your natural cleverness; and what a pity it
would be if, with very promising talents, you should not have those fair
advantages which lead a man to success in life.”
“And do you know what _he_ 'd say to all that?”
“No.”
“Well, I'll tell you. He'd say 'Bother!' Just 'bother.'”
“What do you mean by 'bother'?”
“That what you were saying was all nonsense. That you did n't know, nor
you never could know, the struggles of a man like himself, just to make
the two ends meet; not to be rich, mind you, or lay by money, or have
shares in this, or stocks in that, but just to live, and no more.”
“Well, I'd say, 'Give him a few hundred pounds, and start him.'”
“Why don't you say a few thousands? It would sound grander, and be just
as likely. Can't you see that everybody hasn't a Lieutenant-General for
a father? and that what you 'd give for a horse--that would, maybe,
be staked to-morrow--would perhaps be a fortune for a fellow like me?
What's that I hear coming up the river? That's the doctor, I 'm sure.
I 'll be off till he's gone.” And without waiting to hear a word, he
sprang from his chair and disappeared in the wood.
Dr. Dill only waited a few seconds to compose his features, somewhat
excited by what he had overheard; and then coughing loudly, to announce
his approach, moved gravely along the gravel path.
“And how is my respected patient?” asked he, blandly. “Is the
inflammation subsiding, and are our pains diminished?”
“My ankle is easier, if you mean that,” said Conyers, bluntly.
“Yes, much easier,--much easier,” said the doctor, examining the limb;
“and our cellular tissue has less effusion, the sheaths of the tendons
freer, and we are generally better. I perceive you have had the leeches
applied. Did Tom--my son--give you satisfaction? Was he as attentive and
as careful as you wished?”
“Yes, I liked him. I wish he 'd come up every day while I remain. Is
there any objection to that arrangement?”
“None, dear sir,--none. His time is fully at your service; he ought to
be working hard. It is true he should be reading eight or ten hours a
day, for his examination; but it is hard to persuade him to it. Young
men will be young men!”
“I hope so, with all my heart. At least, I, for one, don't want to be
an old one. Will you do me a favor, doctor? and will you forgive me if
I don't know how to ask it with all becoming delicacy? I'd like to give
Tom a helping hand. He's a good fellow,--I 'm certain he is. Will you
let me send him out to India, to my father? He has lots of places to
give away, and he 'd be sure to find something to suit him. You have
heard of General Conyers, perhaps, the political resident at Delhi?
That's my governor.” In the hurry and rapidity with which he spoke, it
was easy to see how he struggled with a sense of shame and confusion.
Dr. Dill was profuse of acknowledgments; he was even moved as he
expressed his gratitude. “It was true,” he remarked, “that his life had
been signalled by these sort of graceful services, or rather offers of
services; for we are proud if we are poor, sir. 'Dill aut nil' is the
legend of our crest, which means that we are ourselves or nothing.”
“I conclude everybody else is in the same predicament,” broke in
Conyers, bluntly.
“Not exactly, young gentleman,--not exactly. I think I could, perhaps,
explain--”
“No, no; never mind it. I 'm the stupidest fellow in the world at a nice
distinction; besides, I'll take your word for the fact. You have heard
of my father, have n't you?”
“I heard of him so late as last night, from a brother officer of yours,
Captain Stapylton.”
“Where did you meet Stapylton?” asked Conyers, quickly.
“At Sir Charles Cobham's. I was presented to him by my daughter, and he
made the most kindly inquiries after you, and said that, if possible,
he'd come over here to-day to see you.”
“I hope he won't; that's all,” muttered Conyers. Then, correcting
himself suddenly, he said: “I mean, I scarcely know him; he has only
joined us a few months back, and is a stranger to every one in the
regiment. I hope you did n't tell him where I was.”
“I'm afraid that I did, for I remember his adding, 'Oh! I must carry him
off. I must get him back to headquarters.'”
“Indeed! Let us see if he will. That's the style of these 'Company's'
officers,--he was in some Native corps or other,--they always fancy they
can bully a subaltern; but Black Stapylton will find himself mistaken
this time.”
“He was afraid that you had not fallen into skilful hands; and, of
course, it would not have come well from me to assure him of the
opposite.”
“Well, but what of Tom, doctor? You have given me no answer.”
“It is a case for reflection, my dear young friend, if I may be
emboldened to call you so. It is not a matter I can say yes or no to on
the instant. I have only two grown-up children: my daughter, the most
affectionate, the most thoughtful of girls, educated, too, in a way to
grace any sphere--”
“You need n't tell me that Tom is a wild fellow,” broke in Conyers,--for
he well understood the antithesis that was coming; “he owned it all to
me, himself. I have no doubt, too, that he made the worst of it; for,
after all, what signifies a dash of extravagance, or a mad freak or two?
You can't expect that we should all be as wise and as prudent and as
cool-headed as Black Stapylton.”
“You plead very ably, young gentleman,” said Dill, with his smoothest
accent, “but you must give me a little time.”
“Well, I'll give you till to-morrow,--to-morrow, at this hour; for
it wouldn't be fair to the poor fellow to keep him in a state of
uncertainty. His heart is set on the plan; he told me so.”
“I 'll do my best to meet your wishes, my dear young gentleman; but
please to bear in mind that it is the whole future fate of my son I
am about to decide. Your father may not, possibly, prove so deeply
interested as you are; he may--not unreasonably, either--take a colder
view of this project; he may chance to form a lower estimate of my poor
boy than it is your good nature to have done.”
“Look here, doctor; I know my governor something better than you do, and
if I wrote to him, and said, 'I want this fellow to come home with a lac
of rupees,' he 'd start him to-morrow with half the money. If I were to
say, 'You are to give him the best thing in your gift,' there's nothing
he 'd stop at; he 'd make him a judge, or a receiver, or some one of
those fat things that send a man back to England with a fortune. What's
that fellow whispering to you about? It's something that concerns me.”
This sudden interruption was caused by the approach of Darby, who had
come to whisper something in the doctor's ear.
“It is a message he has brought me; a matter of little consequence.
I 'll look to it, Darby. Tell your mistress it shall be attended to.”
Darby lingered for a moment, but the doctor motioned him away, and did
not speak again till he had quitted the spot. “How these fellows will
wait to pick up what passes between their betters,” said Dill, while he
continued to follow him with his eyes. “I think I mentioned to you once,
already, that the persons who keep this house here are reduced gentry,
and it is now my task to add that, either from some change of fortune or
from caprice, they are thinking of abandoning the inn, and resuming--so
far as may be possible for them--their former standing. This project
dates before your arrival here; and now, it would seem, they are
growing impatient to effect it; at least, a very fussy old lady--Miss
Barrington--has sent me word by Darby to say her brother will be back
here tomorrow or next day, with some friends from Kilkenny, and she asks
at what time your convalescence is likely to permit removal.”
“Turned out, in fact, doctor,--ordered to decamp! You must say, I 'm
ready, of course; that is to say, that I 'll go at once. I don't exactly
see how I 'm to be moved in this helpless state, as no carriage can
come here; but you 'll look to all that for me. At all events, go
immediately, and say I shall be off within an hour or so.”
“Leave it all to me,--leave it in my hands. I think I see what is to
be done,” said the doctor, with one of his confident little smiles, and
moved away.
There was a spice of irritation in Conyers's manner as he spoke. He was
very little accustomed to be thwarted in anything, and scarcely knew the
sensation of having a wish opposed, or an obstacle set against him, but
simply because there was a reason for his quitting the place, grew all
the stronger his desire to remain there. He looked around him, and never
before had the foliage seemed so graceful; never had the tints of the
copper-beech blended so harmoniously with the stone-pine and the
larch; never had the eddies of the river laughed more joyously, nor the
blackbirds sung with a more impetuous richness of melody. “And to say
that I must leave all this, just when I feel myself actually clinging
to it. I could spend my whole life here. I glory in this quiet, unbroken
ease; this life, that slips along as waveless as the stream there! Why
should n't I buy it; have it all my own, to come down to whenever I was
sick and weary of the world and its dissipations? The spot is small; it
couldn't be very costly; it would take a mere nothing to maintain. And
to have it all one's own!” There was an actual ecstasy in the thought;
for in that same sense of possession there is a something that resembles
the sense of identity. The little child with his toy, the aged man with
his proud demesne, are tasters of the same pleasure.
“You are to use your own discretion, my dear young gentleman, and
go when it suits you, and not before,” said the doctor, returning
triumphantly, for he felt like a successful envoy. “And now I will leave
you. To-morrow you shall have my answer about Tom.”
Conyers nodded vaguely; for, alas! Tom, and all about him, had
completely lapsed from his memory.