Zerubbabel Burk sat upon his stool of office in the doctor's consulting
room, swinging his legs. Would-be discoverers of perpetual motion might
have received many hints from Bubble, though he himself would have
scorned to consider the swinging of legs as motion. He was under the
delusion that he was sitting perfectly still. For the doctor was asleep.
Asleep, at four o'clock on a glorious summer day! No wonder his friend
and partner wore a tragic face.
"Doesn't seem to care a hang if he never gets any patients!" mused
Bubble, resentfully, stealing a half fond, half angry glance at the
placid face of the sleeper. "Only two folks in all day and one a kid
with a pin in its throat. And all he says is, 'Don't worry, son, we're
getting on fine!' We'll go smash one of these days, that's what we'll
do--just smash!"
"Tap-tap" sounded the blinds which were drawn over the western windows.
A pleasant little breeze was trying to come in. "Buzz" sounded a fly on
the wall. Bubble arose noisily and killed it with a resounding "thwack."
"Wake the doctor, would you?" he said. "Take that!"
But even the pistol-like report which accompanied the fly's demise
failed to ruffle the sleeper. Bubble returned disconsolate to
his stool.
"Smash," he repeated, "smash is the word. I see our finish."
The pronoun which Bubble used nowadays was always "we." He belonged to
the doctor body and soul, but it was no servile giving. The doctor also
belonged to him, and it was with this privilege of ownership that he now
found fault with his idol. Had any one else objected to the doctor's
afternoon rest he would have found reason and excuse enough; but in his
own heart he was puzzled. Such indifference to the appearances, such
wilful disregard of "business" could hardly, he thought, be real; yet,
for an imitation, it was remarkably well done. Bubble admired even while
he deprecated.
Why, he did not even go to church so that the minister might introduce
him around as "Dr. Callandar, the new brother who has come amongst us."
Neither did he walk down Main Street, nor show himself in public places.
When he went walking he went early in the morning and directed his steps
toward the country. About all the usual means of harmless and necessary
advertising he did not seem to know Beans! Bubble looked disconsolately
out of the window. There was Ann, now, coming across the yard. School
must be out, and still the doctor slept.
"Anybody in?" asked Ann in a stage whisper.
"Not just now. Been very busy though. Doctor's resting. Stop that
noise."
"I'm not making any noise! He's part my doctor anyway. I'll make a noise
if I like--"
"No you won't, miss!"
"But I don't _like_," added Ann with her impish smile. "If he's asleep
what are you staying here for? Come on out."
Bubble regarded the tempter with scornful amazement.
"That's it!" he exclaimed, "jest like I always said, women haven't any
sense of honour. What d'ye suppose I'm here for?"
"Not just to swing your legs," placidly. "He doesn't need you when he's
asleep, does he? Come on and let's get some water-cress. He'd like some
for his tea--dinner I mean. Say, Bubble, why does he call it dinner?"
"Because he comes from the city, Silly! They don't have any tea in the
city. They have breakfast when they get up and lunch at noon and dinner
about seven or eight or nine at night. Then if they get hungry before
bed-time they have supper. The doctor says he never gets hungry after
dinner so he don't have that."
Ann considered this a moment.
"They do so have tea!" she declared. "I heard Mrs. Andrew West telling
about it. She said her sister in Toronto had a tea specially for her."
"Oh," with superb disdain, "that's just for women. If they can't wait
for dinner they get bread and butter and tea in the afternoon. But they
have to eat it walking around and they only get it when they go out
to call."
Ann sighed. "I'd like to live in the city," she murmured. "Say, don't
you feel as if you'd like a cookie right now?"
Bubble squirmed. But his Spartan fortitude held.
"In business hours? No, thank you. 'Tisn't professional. Look silly,
wouldn't I, if one of our patients caught me eating?"
"How many to-day?"
"That'd be telling. 'Tisn't professional to tell. Doctor says if a man
wants to succeed, he's got to be as dumb as a noyster in business!"
"Pshaw!" said Ann, "Aunty'll tell. She always counts. Then you don't
want a cookie?"
"Well--later on--Cricky! here's some one coming! You scoot--pike it!"
"I won't!" Ann stood her ground, peering eagerly around the rose bush.
"It's only Esther Coombe. She'll be coming to see Aunt--no--she's coming
here! Hi, Bubble, wake him up--quick!"
"Hum, Hum!" said Bubble in a loud voice, rattling a chair. The sleeper
made no movement.
Ann, brave through anxiety, flew across the room and shook him with all
the strength of her small hands. The heavy lids lifted and still
Ann shook.
"Is it an earthquake?" asked the victim politely.
"No--it's a patient! Oh, do get up. Oh, goodness gracious, look at your
hair!"
The doctor passed his hand absently over a disordered head. "Yes," he
said, "I have always thought that shaking is not good for hair. Dear me!
I believe I have been asleep!"
Ann threw him a glance of mingled admiration and reproach and vanished
through the parlour door just as the step of the patient sounded upon
the stone steps.
"Why, Bubble Burk!" said a voice. "What are you doing here?"
At the sound of the voice, sleep fled from the doctor's eyes. He arose
precipitately.
"I'm workin'," Bubble's voice was not as confident as usual. "This here
is Dr. Callandar's office. Mrs. Sykes' visitors go round to the
front door."
"Oh! But it's the doctor I wish to see. Is he in?"
Bubble was now plainly agitated.
"If you'll just wait a moment, I'll--I'll see."
Leaving Esther smiling upon the steps he disappeared into the shaded
office and pulled up the blinds. The couch had been decorously
straightened. The office was empty! Bubble gave a sigh of relief and his
professional manner returned.
"He isn't just what you might call in," he explained affably to Esther.
"But he'll be down directly. Walk in."
Esther walked in and took the seat which Bubble indicated.
"Somebody sick over at your house?" with ill-concealed hope.
Esther dimpled. "Not dangerously, thank you."
"Then it's just tickets for the choir concert. I might have known. But
you're too late. Doctor's got half a dozen already. He--"
Further revelations were cut short by the entrance of the doctor
himself. A doctor with sleep-cleared eyes, fresh collar, and newly
brushed hair. A doctor who shook hands with his caller in a manner which
even the professional Bubble felt to be irreproachable.
"Bubble, you may go."
With a grin of satisfied pride the junior partner departed, but once
outside the gloomy expression returned.
"It's only choir-tickets!" he told Ann, who was waiting around the
corner of the house. "Come on--let's go fishin'."
Inside the office Esther and the doctor looked at each other and smiled.
He, because he felt like smiling; she, because she felt nervous. Yet it
was not going to be as awkward as she had feared. With a decided sense
of relief she realised that Dr. Callandar looked exactly like a doctor
after all! Convention, even in clothes, has a calming effect. There was
little of the weary tramp who had quenched his throat at the school
pump in the well groomed and quietly capable looking doctor. With a
notable decrease of tension Esther saw that the man before her was a
stranger, a pleasant, professional stranger, with whom no embarrassment
was possible.
As for him he realised nothing except that Coombe was really a
delightful place. He felt glad that he had stayed.
"No one ill, I hope, Miss Coombe?" His tone, even, seemed to have lost
the whimsical inflection of the tramp.
"No, Doctor. Not ill exactly. It is Aunt Amy. We cannot understand just
what is the matter. You see, Aunty imagines things. She is not quite
like other people. Perhaps," with a quick smile as she thought of Mrs.
Sykes, "perhaps you may have heard of her--of her fantastic ideas? They
are really quite harmless and apart from them she is the most sensible
person I know. But lately, just the other day, something happened--"
He checked her with an almost imperceptible gesture. "Could you tell me
about it from the beginning?"
Esther looked troubled. "I do not know much about the beginning. You
see, Aunt Amy is my step-mother's aunt, and I have only known her since
she came to live with us shortly after my father's second marriage. But
I know that she has been subject to delusions since she was a young
girl. She was to have been married and on the wedding day her lover
became ill with scarlet fever, a most malignant type. She also sickened
with it a little later; it killed him and left her mentally twisted--as
she is now. Her health is good and the--strangeness--is not very
noticeable. It has usually to do with unimportant things. She is
really," with a little burst of enthusiasm, "a Perfect Dear!"
The doctor smiled. "And the new development?"
"It is not exactly new. She has always had one delusion more serious
than the others. She believes that she has enemies somewhere who would
do her harm if they got the chance. She is quite vague as to who or what
they are. She refers to them as 'They.' Once, when she came to us first,
she was frightened of poison and, although my father, who had great
influence over her, seemed to cure her of any active fear, for years she
has persisted in a curious habit of drinking her coffee without setting
down the cup. The idea seemed to be that if she let it out of her hands
'They,' the mysterious persecutors, might avail themselves of the
opportunity to drug it. Does it sound too fantastic?"
"No. It is not unusual--a fairly common delusion, in fact. There is a
distinct type of brain trouble, one of whose symptoms is a conviction of
persecution. The results are fantastic to a degree."
Well, the day before yesterday Aunt Amy was drinking her coffee as
usual, when she heard Jane scream in the garden. She is very fond of
Jane, and it startled her so that she jumped up at once, forgetting all
about the coffee, and ran out to see what was the matter. Jane had cut
her finger and the tiniest scratch upsets poor Auntie terribly. She is
terrified of blood. When she came back she felt faint and at once picked
up the cup and drank the remaining coffee. I hoped she had not noticed
the slip but she must have done so, subconsciously, for when I was
helping her with the dishes she turned suddenly white--ghastly. She had
just remembered!
'They've got me at last, Esther!' she said with a kind of proud
despair. 'I've been pretty smart, but not quite smart enough.'
I pretended not to understand and she explained quite seriously that
while she had been absent in the garden 'They' had seen her half-filled
cup and seized their opportunity. It was quite useless to point out that
there was no one in the house but ourselves. She only said, 'Oh, "They"
would not let me see them "They" are too smart for that.' Overwhelming
smartness is one of the attributes of the mysterious 'They.'
"I hoped that the idea would wear away but it didn't; it strengthened.
In vain I pointed out that she was perfectly well, with no symptom of
poisoning. She merely answered that naturally 'They' would be too smart
to use ordinary poisons with symptoms. 'I shall just grow weaker and
weaker,' she said, 'and in a week or a month I shall die!' I tried to
laugh but I was frightened. Mother advised taking no notice at all and I
have tried not to, but I can't keep it up. She is certainly weaker and
so strange and hopeless. I am terrified. Can mind really affect matter,
Doctor Callandar?"
"No. As a scientific fact, it cannot. But it is true that certain states
of mind and certain conditions of matter always correspond. Why this is
so, no one knows, when we do know we shall hold the key to many
mysteries. The understanding, even partial, of this correspondence will
be a long step in a long new road. Meanwhile we speak loosely of mind
influencing matter, ignoring the impossibility. And, however it happens,
it is undoubtedly true that if we can, by mental suggestion, influence
your Aunt's mind into a more healthy attitude the corresponding change
will take place physically."
"But I have tried to reason with her."
"You can't reason with her. She is beyond mere reason. I might as well
try to reason you out of your conviction that the sun is shining. A
delusion like hers has all the stability of a perfectly sane belief."
"Then what can we do?"
"Since that delusion is a fact for her we must treat it as if it were a
fact for us."
"You mean we must pretend to believe that the danger is real?"
"It is real. People have died before now of nothing save a fixed idea of
death."
"Oh!"
"But don't worry. Aunt Amy is not going to die. When may I see her? If I
come over in a half an hour will that be convenient?"
Esther rose with relief. How kind he had been! How completely he had
understood! She had been right, perfectly right, in coming to him. In
spite of Mrs. Coombe's ridicule, Aunt Amy's need had been no fancy. And
there was another thing; he was coming to the house. Her mother would
see him--and presto! her prejudice against doctors would vanish--he
would cure the headaches, and everything would be happy again.
The doctor, watching keenly, thought that she must have been troubled
greatly to show such evident relief.
"One thing more," he said. "Was there, do you know, any history of
insanity in your aunt's family?"
The girl paled. The idea was a disturbing one.
"Why--no--I think not. I never heard. You see, she is not my Aunt,
really, but my step-mother's aunt. There was a brother, I think, who
died in--in an institution. He was not quite responsible, but in his
case it was drink. That is different, isn't it? Does it make any
difference?"
"No--only it may help me to understand the case. Good-afternoon."
He watched her go, through a peep-hole made by Bubble in the blind.
"Pretty, isn't she?" said a reflective voice below him.
The doctor started. But it was only Mrs. Sykes who had stepped around
the house corner to pluck some flowers from the bed beneath the window.
As he did not answer, the voice continued, "That boy Burk has gone
fishing. I told you you'd regret putting that new suit on to him, brass
buttons and all! Not that I want to say anything against the lad and his
mother a widow, but when a person's dealing with a limb of mischief a
person ought to know what to expect. Anybody sick over at
Esther's house?"
The doctor, leaning against the door in deep reverie, did not seem to
hear. Mrs. Sykes, after a suspicious glance, decided that perhaps he
really had not heard, and proceeded.
"Not that I'm asking out of curiosity, Land sakes! But I've got some
black currant jelly that sick folks fancy. I could spare a jar as
well as not."
A pause.
The flower picker bunched her flowers into a tight round knot which she
surveyed with pride. "That step-mother of Esther's now," she said. "I
don't hold much with her. Flighty, I call her. Delicate, too, if looks
don't lie. Men are queer. The only thing queerer is women. What d'ye
suppose a sensible middle-aged man like Doctor Coombe ever saw in that
pretty doll? And what did she see in him--old enough to be her father? A
queer match, I call it. But they do say that her side of it is easy
explained. Anyway it must have been a trying thing when the doctor's
gold mine didn't--"
Mrs. Sykes' flow of words ceased abruptly, for rising from a last
descent upon the rose bush she saw that her audience had vanished.
"Dear me! I hope he didn't think I was trying to be curious," said Mrs.
Sykes.