"DON'T THROTTLE ME, JAN!"
There was a good deal of sickness at present in Deerham: there generally
was in the autumn season. Many a time did Jan wish he could be master of
Verner's Pride just for twelve months, or of any other "Pride" whose
revenues were sufficient to remedy the evils existing in the poor
dwellings: the ill accommodation, inside; the ill draining, out. Jan,
had that desirable consummation arrived, would not have wasted time in
thinking over it; he would have commenced the work in the same hour with
his own hands. However, Jan, like most of us, had not to do with things
as they might be, but with things as they were. The sickness was great,
and Jan, in spite of his horse's help, was, as he often said, nearly
worked off his legs.
He had been hastening to a patient when encountered by Lionel and
Captain Cannonby. From that patient he had to hasten to others, in a
succession of relays, as it were, all day long; sometimes his own legs
in requisition, sometimes the horse's. About seven o'clock he got home
to tea, at which Miss Deborah made him comfortable. Truth to say, Miss
Deborah felt rather inclined to pet Jan as a son. He had gone there a
boy, and Miss Deb, though the years since had stolen on and on, and had
changed Jan into a man, had not allowed her ideas to keep pace with
them. So do we cheat ourselves! There were times when a qualm of
conscience came over Miss Deb. Remembering how hard Jan worked, and that
her father took more than the lion's share of the profits, it appeared
to her scarcely fair. Not that she could alter it, poor thing! All she
could do was to be as economical as possible, and to study Jan's
comforts. Now and again she had been compelled to go to Jan for money,
over and above the stipulated sum paid to her. Jan gave it as freely and
readily as he would have filled Miss Amilly's glass pot with castor oil.
But Deborah West knew that it came out of Jan's own pocket; and, to ask
for it, went terribly against her feelings and her sense of justice.
The tea was over. But she took care of Jan's--some nice tea, and toasted
tea-cakes, and a plate of ham. Jan sat down by the fire, and, as Miss
Deb said, took it in comfort. Truth to say, had Jan found only the
remains of the teapot, and stale bread-and-butter, he might have thought
it comfortable enough for him; he would not have grumbled had he found
nothing.
"Any fresh messages in, do you know, Miss Deb?" he inquired.
"Now, do pray get your tea in peace, Mr. Jan, and don't worry yourself
over 'fresh messages,'" responded Miss Deb. "Master Cheese was called
out to the surgery at tea-time, but I suppose it was nothing particular,
for he was back again directly."
"Of course!" cried Jan. "_He'd_ not lose his tea without a fight for
it."
Jan finished his tea and departed to the surgery, catching sight of the
coat-tails of Mr. Bitterworth's servant leaving it. Master Cheese was
seated with the leech basin before him. It was filled with Orleans
plums, of which he was eating with uncommon satisfaction. Liking
variations of flavour in fruit, he occasionally diversified the plums
with a sour codlin apple, a dozen or so of which he had stowed away in
his trousers' pockets. Bob stood at a respectful distance, his eyes
wandering to the tempting collation, and his mouth watering. Amongst the
apples Master Cheese had come upon one three parts eaten away by the
grubs, and this he benevolently threw to Bob. Bob had disposed of it,
and was now vainly longing for more.
"What did Bitterworth's man want?" inquired Jan of Master Cheese.
"The missis is took bad again, he says," responded that gentleman, as
distinctly as he could speak for the apples and the plums: "croup, or
something. Not as violent as it was before. Can wait."
"You had better go up at once," was Jan's reply.
Master Cheese was taken aback. "_I_ go up!" he repeated, pulling a face
as long as his arm. "All that way! I had to go to Baker's and to Flint's
between dinner and tea."
"And to how many Bakers and Flints do I have to go between dinner and
tea?" retorted Jan. "You know what to give Mrs. Bitterworth. So start."
Master Cheese felt aggrieved beyond everything. For one thing, it might
be dangerous to leave those cherished plums in the leech basin, Bob
being within arm's length of them; for another, Master Cheese liked his
ease better than walking. He cast some imploring glances at Jan, but
they produced no effect, so he had to get his hat. Vacillating between
the toll that might be taken of the plums if he left them, and the
damage to his hair if he took them, he finally decided on the latter
course. Emptying the plums into his hat, he put it on his head. Jan was
looking over what they termed the call-book.
"Miss Deb says you were called out at tea-time," observed Jan, as Master
Cheese was departing. "Who was it?"
"Nobody but old Hook. The girl was worse."
"What! Alice? Why have you not got it down here?" pointing to the book.
"Oh, they are nobody," grumbled Master Cheese. "I wonder the paupers are
not ashamed to come here to our faces, asking for attendance and physic!
I They know they'll never pay."
"That's my business," said Jan, "Did he say she was very ill?"
"'Took dangerous,' _he_ said," returned Master Cheese. "Thought she'd
not live the night out."
Indefatigable Jan put on his hat, and went out with Master Cheese.
Master Cheese turned leisurely towards Mr. Bitterworth's; Jan cut across
the road at a strapping pace, and took the nearest way to Hook's
cottage. It led him past the retired spot where he and the Reverend Mr.
Bourne had found Alice lying that former night.
Barely had Jan gained it when some tall, dark form came pushing through
the trees at right angles, and was striding off to the distance. One
single moment's indecision--for Jan was not sure at first in the
uncertain light--and then he put his long legs to their utmost speed,
bore down, and pinned the intruder.
"Now, then!" said Jan, "ghost or no ghost, who are you?"
He was answered by a laugh, and some joking words--
"Don't throttle me quite, Jan. Even a ghost can't stand that."
The tone of the laugh, the tone of the voice, fell upon Jan Verner's
ears with the most intense astonishment. He peered into the speaker's
face with his keen eyes, and gave vent to an exclamation. In spite of
the whiskerless cheeks, the elaborate black mark, in spite of the
strange likeness to his brother, Jan recognised the features, not of
Frederick, but of John Massingbird.