At seven o'clock Dr. Dosewell arrived, and was shown into the room of
the homoeopathist, who, already up and dressed, had visited his
patient.
"My name is Morgan," said the homoeopathist; "I am a physician. I
leave in your hands a patient whom, I fear, neither I nor you can
restore. Come and look at him."
The two doctors went into the sick-room. Mr. Digby was very feeble, but
he had recovered his consciousness, and inclined his head courteously.
"I am sorry to cause so much trouble," said he. The homoeopathist drew
away Helen; the allopathist seated himself by the bedside and put his
questions, felt the pulse, sounded the lungs, and looked at the tongue
of the patient. Helen's eye was fixed on the strange doctor, and her
color rose, and her eye sparkled when he got up cheerfully, and said in
a pleasant voice. "You may have a little tea."
"Tea!" growled the homoeopathist--"barbarian!"
"He is better, then, sir?" said Helen, creeping to the allopathist.
"Oh, yes, my dear--certainly; and we shall do very well, I hope."
The two doctors then withdrew.
"Last about a week!" said Dr. Dosewell, smiling pleasantly, and showing
a very white set of teeth.
"I should have said a month; but our systems are different," replied Dr.
Morgan, drily.
_Dr. Dosewell_, (courteously).--"We country doctors bow to our
metropolitan superiors; what would you advise? You would venture,
perhaps, the experiment of bleeding."
_Dr. Morgan_, (spluttering and growing Welsh, which he never did but in
excitement). "Pleed! Cott in heaven! do you think I am a butcher--an
executioner? Pleed! Never."
_Dr. Dosewell._--"I don't find it answer, myself, when both lungs are
gone! But perhaps you are for inhaling."
_Dr. Morgan._--"Fiddledee!"
_Dr. Dosewell_, (with some displeasure).--"What would you advise, then,
in order to prolong our patient's life for a month?"
_Dr. Morgan._--"Stop the haemoptysis--give him _rhus_!"
_Dr. Dosewell._--"Rhus, sir! _Rhus!_ I don't know that medicine.
_Rhus!_"
_Dr. Morgan._--"_Rhus toxicodendron._"
The length of the last word excited Dr. Dosewell's respect. A word of
five syllables--this was something like! He bowed deferentially, but
still looked puzzled. At last he said, smiling frankly, "You great
London practitioners have so many new medicines; may I ask what Rhus
toxico--toxico--
"Dendron."
"Is?"
"The juice of the Upas--vulgarly called the Poison-Tree."
Dr. Dosewell started.
"Upas--poison-tree--little birds that come under the shade fall down
dead! You give upas juice in haemoptysis--what's the dose?"
Dr. Morgan grinned maliciously, and produced a globule the size of a
small pin's head.
Dr. Dosewell recoiled in disgust.
"Oh!" said he very coldly, and assuming at once an air of superb
superiority, "I see--a homoeopathist, sir!"
"A homoeopathist!"
"Um!"
"Um!"
"A strange system, Dr. Morgan," said Dr. Dosewell, recovering his
cheerful smile, but with a curl of contempt in it, "and would soon do
for the druggists."
"Serve 'em right. The druggists soon do for the patients."
"Sir!"
"Sir!"
_Dr. Dosewell_, (with dignity.)--"You don't know, perhaps, Dr. Morgan,
that I am an apothecary as well as a surgeon. In fact," he added, with a
certain grand humility, "I have not yet taken a diploma, and am but
Doctor by courtesy."
_Dr. Morgan._--"All one, sir! Doctor signs the death-warrant--'pothecary
does the deed!"
_Dr. Dosewell_, (with a withering sneer.)--"Certainly we don't profess
to keep a dying man alive upon the juice of the deadly upas-tree."
_Dr. Morgan_, (complacently.)--"Of course you don't. There are no
poisons with us. That's just the difference between you and me, Dr.
Dosewell!"
_Dr. Dosewell_, (pointing to the homoeopathist's travelling
pharmacopoeia, and with affected candor.)--"Indeed, I have always said
that if you can do no good, you can do no harm, with your
infinitesimals."
Dr. Morgan, who had been obtuse to the insinuation of poisoning, fires
up violently at the charge of doing no harm.
"You know nothing about it! I could kill quite as many people as you, if
I chose it; but I don't choose."
_Dr. Dosewell_, (shrugging up his shoulders.)--"Sir! 'tis no use
arguing; the thing's against common sense. In short, it is my firm
belief that it is--is a complete--"
_Dr. Morgan._--"A complete what?"
_Dr. Dosewell_, (provoked to the utmost.)--"Humbug!"
_Dr. Morgan._--"Humbug! Cott in heaven! You old--"
_Dr. Dosewell._--"Old what, sir?"
_Dr. Morgan_, (at home in a series of alliteral vowels, which none but a
Cymbrian could have uttered without gasping.)--"Old allopathical
anthropophagite!"
_Dr. Dosewell_, (starting up, seizing by the back the chair on which he
had sate, and bringing it down violently on its four legs)--"Sir!"
_Dr. Morgan_, (imitating the action with his own chair.)--"Sir!"
_Dr. Dosewell._--"You're abusive."
_Dr. Morgan._--"You're impertinent."
_Dr. Dosewell._--"Sir!"
_Dr. Morgan._--"Sir!"
The two rivals fronted each other.
They were both athletic men, and fiery men. Dr. Dosewell was the taller,
but Dr. Morgan was the stouter. Dr. Dosewell on the mother's side was
Irish; but Dr. Morgan on both sides was Welsh. All things considered, I
would have backed Dr. Morgan if it had come to blows. But, luckily for
the honor of science, here the chambermaid knocked at the door, and
said, "The coach is coming, sir."
Dr. Morgan recovered his temper and his manners at that announcement.
"Dr. Dosewell," said he, "I have been too hot--I apologize."
"Dr. Morgan," answered the allopathist, "I forgot myself. Your hand,
sir."
_Dr. Morgan._--"We are both devoted to humanity, though with different
opinions. We should respect each other."
_Dr. Dosewell._--"Where look for liberality, if men of science are
illiberal to their brethren?"
_Dr. Morgan_, (aside.)--"The old hypocrite! He would pound me in a
mortar if the law would let him."
_Dr. Dosewell_, (aside.)--"The wretched charlatan! I should like to
pound him in a mortar."
_Dr. Morgan._--"Good-bye, my esteemed and worthy brother."
_Dr. Dosewell._--"My excellent friend, good-bye."
_Dr. Morgan_, (returning in haste.)--"I forgot. I don't think our poor
patient is very rich. I confide him to your disinterested
benevolence."--(Hurries away.)
_Dr. Dosewell_, (in a rage.)--"Seven miles at six o'clock in the
morning, and perhaps done out of my fee! Quack! Villain!"
Meanwhile, Dr. Morgan had returned to the sick-room.
"I must wish you farewell," said he to poor Mr. Digby, who was languidly
sipping his tea, "But you are in the hands of a--of a--gentleman in the
profession."
"You have been too kind--I am shocked," said Mr. Digby. "Helen, where's
my purse?"
Dr. Morgan paused.
He paused, first, because it must be owned that his practice was
restricted, and a fee gratified the vanity natural to unappreciated
talent, and had the charm of novelty which is sweet to human nature
itself. Secondly, he was a man
"Who knew his rights, and, knowing, dared maintain."
He had resigned a coach fare--slaved a night--and thought he had
relieved his patient. He had a right to his fee.
On the other hand he paused, because, though he had small practice, he
was tolerably well off, and did not care for money itself, and he
suspected his patient to be no Cresus.
Meanwhile, the purse was in Helen's hand. He took it from her, and saw
but a few sovereigns within the well-worn network. He drew the child a
little aside.
"Answer me, my dear, frankly--is your papa rich?" And he glanced at the
shabby clothes strewed on the chair, and Helen's faded frock.
"Alas, no!" said Helen, hanging her head.
"Is that all you have?"
"All."
"I am ashamed to offer you two guineas," said Mr. Digby's hollow voice
from the bed.
"And I should be still more ashamed to take them. Good-bye, sir. Come
here, my child. Keep your money, and don't waste it on the other doctor
more than you can help. His medicines can do your father no good. But I
suppose you must have some. He's no physician, therefore there's no fee.
He'll send a bill--it can't be much. You understand. And now, God bless
you."
Dr. Morgan was off. But as he paid the landlady his bill, he said
considerately, "The poor people up stairs can pay you, but not that
doctor--and he's of no use. Be kind to the little girl, and get the
doctor to tell his patient (quietly, of course) to write to his
friends--soon--you understand. Somebody must take charge of the poor
child. And stop--hold your hand; take care--these globules for the
little girl when her father dies--(here the Doctor muttered to himself,
'grief;--_aconite_')--and if she cries too much afterwards--these (don't
mistake.) Tears:--_caustic_!"
"Come, sir," cried the coachman.
"Coming;--tears--_caustic_," repeated the homoeopathist, pulling out
his handkerchief and his phial-book together as he got into the coach;
and he hastily swallowed his anti-lachrymal.