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diff --git a/44952-8.txt b/44952-8.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 88824f6..0000000 --- a/44952-8.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,7657 +0,0 @@ - SIXPENNY PIECES - - - - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost -no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it -under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this -eBook or online at http://www.gutenberg.org/license. - - - -Title: Sixpenny Pieces -Author: A. Neil Lyons -Release Date: February 17, 2014 [EBook #44952] -Language: English -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SIXPENNY PIECES *** - - - - -Produced by Al Haines. - - - - - - _SIXPENNY_ - :: _PIECES_ :: - - - _BY A. NEIL LYONS_ - - - - _LONDON: JOHN LANE, THE BODLEY HEAD_ - _NEW YORK: JOHN LANE COMPANY: MCMIX_ - - - - - WILLIAM BRENDON AND SON, LTD., PRINTERS, PLYMOUTH - - - - _BY THE SAME AUTHOR_ - - Arthur's. With a Cover-design - by W. Graham Robertson. - Crown 8vo. Second Edition. - - - - - TO - K. L. S. - - - - - _*CONTENTS*_ - - - I. Introductory - II. Concerning James - III. First Impressions - IV. Sixpences - V. The Hypocrites - VI. Conatus - VII. On The Properties of Water - VIII. The Way of the East - IX. The 'Pothecary - X. The Mother's Trade Union - XI. The Diagnosis - XII. The Tuskers - XIII. Art Lovers - XIV. Three Babies - XV. Ingrates - XVI. Baffin's Find - XVII. Mr. West's Wife - XVIII. Three Dialogues - XIX. Curing the Curer - XX. Milk! - XXI. Two Patients - XXII. Lost! - XXIII. The Survivor - XXIV. More of Prudence - XXV. A Talk with James - XXVI. The April Barge - XXVII. The Case of Mrs. Roper - XXVIII. The Black Hat - XXIX. On Earning Sixpence - XXX. Dialogue with a Bride - XXXI. An Interlude - XXXII. Low Finance - XXXIII. The Mothers' Meeting - XXXIV. The Woes of Wilfered - XXXV. Still More of Prudence - XXXVI. A Birthday Party - XXXVII. The Moral Sense -XXXVIII. Love and Hate - XXXIX. On a Dead Policeman - XL. Mrs. Gluckstein - XLI. Of Human Kindness - XLII. The Last - - - - - _*SIXPENNY PIECES*_ - - - - *I* - - *INTRODUCTORY* - - -I was a beautiful evening in the month of May. - -The stars were shining. - -The beautiful moon looked beautifully forth from her beautiful throne. - -A nightingale greeted her with a beautiful sonnet. England--our -England--bore upon her bosom the beautiful perfume of woodruff and the -wild clover. In Bovingdon Street, London, E., a lover was kicking his -sweetheart. - -That was the beginning of this book. I happened to be standing at Mr. -Wilson's coffee stall. And I heard the screaming. And I saw some -shadows moving briskly, like the funny silhouettes on the blind at a -pantomime. And some of us laughed and some of us whined and one of us -blew a whistle. And the constabulary arrived, and with their coming the -tumult died. And they brought the girl to the light of the stall, and -her face was bruised and swollen and she lost her voice. But before -doing so she was able to assure us that "'E done it in drink." "'E" was -removed under escort. - -They did not take her to a hospital, because there was a round little -man at the stall who prevented them from doing so. "Lemme alone," the -lady had remarked, upon regaining speech. "Don't you worry me. I'm all -right, I am. I got my doctor 'ere: this genelman in the top 'at. Ain't -that right, sir? You are my doctor, ain't you?" - -"That is so," said the round little man, "I'm her doctor. Shift your -dam carcases and give the woman some air." - -"There you are," gasped the woman, "what did I tell you? He _is_ my -doctor. I got 'is confinement card in me pocket this minute." - -"She can't stop 'ere you know, Dr. Brink," expostulated a constable. - -"I'll take her home," said the round man. - -"Be a lot better in the 'orspital," muttered the constable. - -"I'm obliged for your opinion, officer; but I think I'll have my own way -_this_ time. Catch hold of her middle, will you, Sonny?" - -It was your servant who had the honour to be addressed as Sonny, and he -hastened to do the little round man's bidding. When we had got the lady -into a perpendicular attitude, the doctor put his arm about her, and, -anticipating the little man's commands, your servant did the same. And -so we led her from the stall, all the cut-throats of Bovingdon Street -following reverently behind us. Happily our march was not a long one, -for the patient lived in Smith Street; and Smith Street, as everybody -knows, is the second turning past the African Chief beer-house in -Bovingdon Street. Short as the journey was, however, I could have -wished it to be shorter: for the cut-throats pressed us close, breathing -thickly about our ears; and the woman weighed heavy, having no manner of -use for her legs and being stupid in the head. She only spoke once -during the walk, and that was to say, in a drowsy sort of monotone: "'E -done it--in drink." - -We came at last to 13, Smith Street, and the fact that eighteen eager -faces were already distributed among the six small windows of that -dwelling-house removed my latent fears that our arrival would disturb -"the neighbours." The owners of these faces were entirely mute, save -for one, an elderly woman, who, in a loud wail, made certain -representations to Providence in regard to one 'Erry Barber, whom I -understood to be the lusty gallant primarily responsible for this -adventure. Having repeated these commands a great number of times, and -having exercised undoubted talent in describing 'Erry and 'Erry's -parentage, the old woman proceeded to chronicle her views respecting a -vast number of alien subjects. At last this lady had the great -misfortune to "catch her breath," at which the doctor cut in. - -"Stop that beastly noise!" he shouted, "and shut the window, and put on -a respectable garment, and come downstairs and let us in." - -The lady looked benignly down upon us. - -"Go' bless ye, doctor," she exclaimed, "you are a good man. But you -didn't ought to talk like that to _me_. I lorst a son in the Bower -war." - -At that moment the door was opened by some other dweller in the house. -And the doctor and his patient entered in. Not knowing the -neighbourhood and not liking it, and being also of a curious nature, I -awaited the doctor's return. I had not long to wait. He came out very -soon, and we walked away together into clearer air. And the doctor -spoke. - -"It is a deuced queer thing," he said, "that a man can't stop for five -minutes at a dam coffee stall without some fool or other finding work -for him. I'll never go to that stall again. I'll be damned if I will. -I ought to have got home half an hour ago." - -"Yes," I said--I believe that vaguely I sought to comfort him--"and she -_would_ have been better off in the infirmary?" - -"Don't talk foolishness, young man," replied the round little doctor. -"You are talking dam nonsense. Infirmary--pooh! With a baby almost -due, and with all those bruises! They would have made a complete job of -it there. They would have kept her there for the lying-in and all--a -six weeks' job at least." - -"And would that matter?" - -"Matter? Of course it would. That man will be out in a week, even if -our local humorist doesn't let him off with a fine. What's to become of -that poor girl's home, do you suppose, while she's in and he's out?" - -"Would he touch it?" - -"Do you live in this neighbourhood, sir?" The doctor wore a visage as -of painful wonder. - -I explained that I didn't. - -The doctor's wonder grew. "What under heaven are you doing in the -purlieus of Mile End Road at two in the morning, then?" he demanded. - -"Sir," I said, with grand simplicity, "you behold in me the -representative of an inexpensive but celebrated newspaper. I am come -here, by editorial instruction, to seek out Blossom, the chimney-sweep -philosopher, whose opinion on horse-racing we are anxious to secure for -our magazine page. But Blossom has evaporated. Mrs. Blossom vainly -seeketh him. So does the other woman's husband. I have prepared a full -and detailed report of this disgraceful scandal, which will appear, -together with photographs, on our sermon page next Sunday. And as, when -I communicated by telephone with my editor, he was so kind as to relieve -me from further intellectual activity for the day, and as I do not know -Mile End, and as I----" - -"Never mind the 'ases,'" interpolated the doctor. "My name is Brink. I -like your politics." - -"I have no politics," I explained. "But ... I hate my job." - -"That is what I mean," replied the doctor. "... So you want me to send -this woman to the infirmary, where they will feed her well and keep her -warm between white sheets, and give her copies of the _Nineteenth -Century_ to read. But during that time, you see, her 'man' and some -other woman would be pawning her home. She knows this, and I know it. -So I took her home. If she has concussion, of course, she'll _have_ to -go; but short of that we can get her through it at home. There's a -boilerman's wife in the room above who has rudimentary graces. -Infirmary, forsooth! Why, even the respectable married ones would -rather pawn their wedding rings than 'lie in' on a public bed. A woman -at home is a woman at home, even though she talks through the mouth of a -midwife; but when a woman is in hospital William's wages and the marble -ornaments are both at William's mercy. And so the women stop at home -and call in Brink--Brink--the sixpenny doctor." - -I laughed. "Is it _really_ sixpence--your fee, I mean?" - -"It is _really_ sixpence. And my income is twelve hundred a year. I -used to have a respectable half-guinea practice in Norfolk, and then I -was doing eight hundred, and spending it all on dog-carts and -dinner-parties. Here I have no expenses at all, except in the matter of -top-hats; they insist upon top-hats. And I like the place: I am charmed -with the people. Do you like smoked salmon and cold duck?" - -"I do." - -"Then come inside, and have some. And have a look at James. James will -do you good. James is unique. And I can give you a bed, and I can tell -you stories, and show you some fun, too--sideways sort of fun--at -sixpence a time." - -"Sixpenny pieces," I suggested, as his key turned in the lock. - - - - - *II* - - *CONCERNING JAMES* - - -I have confused impressions of that first visit to the house of Dr. -Brink. It was so late when we entered, you see, and all within the -house was strange and unexpected, and the duck and Burgundy were very -peace-provoking. - -The sort of house which I had expected the doctor to inhabit was not at -all the sort of house he really lived in. I had, perhaps, no very -definite ideas at all. One knows the _ordinary_ doctor's house: a cool -and studious consulting-room, having leathern armchairs and a telephone -and a stethoscope and some framed engravings after Landseer and a silver -goblet which he won at tennis in the eighties and a case of text-books -and a mule canary and claret plush curtains and the centenary edition of -Sir Walter Scott. And a very quiet and lofty waiting-room, containing -all the illustrated papers for last April and a reading-glass and a -stereoscope, besides a decanter of water and three clean tumblers. - -One knows that sort of house, I say, and likewise the gentle, murmuring -press of sufferers which lays siege to it. But the spot-cash -practitioners of Mile End Road are rather strange and foreign to us. We -do not go into their little, weird consulting-hatches nor sweat amid the -tumult of their vulgar patrons. We can imagine what the thing is like: -and there are some of us perhaps who imagine truthfully. I didn't. - -My imagination did not run to Japanese colour prints and pastel studies, -and neatly framed examples of the art of Mr. Nicholson. And yet these -things were hung upon the white distempered walls of Dr. Brink's -infirmary. I figured the tumult as gazing speechlessly upon these -curious East End substitutes for Landseer. "What do they think of -them?" I asked the doctor. - -"They are much amused," said he. We were standing before a pastel when -he spoke--a thing of heavy shadows with purple deeps, wherefrom there -stood forth dimly the figures of a crippled man and an old sick woman, -and the face of a child with brazen eyes. "Out Patients" was the title -of this drawing, and it preached of a divine torture. "They are much -amused," said the doctor. - -But this was in the morning. That night we did not look at pictures, -nor at patients. We sat above and supped off duck and Burgundy. I saw -confusedly--it was a pleasant confusion--that there were many good -pictures in the house, and that books were everywhere--everywhere. And -the bottle was a full one. And we spoke of olives and the Norfolk -women. - -Then he took me to a little brown room with more books in it, and a -bedstead which was of oak and carven. - -"Good-night," said the doctor. "You shall see old James to-morrow. You -will like old James. Good-night." - - * * * * * - -When morning came, I had the pleasure of viewing Bovingdon Street in the -sunshine. - -It was a queer sort of sunshine, to be sure--weak and uncertain and -rather dirty: a sort of actinic heel-taps. But I remember thinking that -any less shabby form of sunshine would have carried with it an air of -disrespect, as though it had come forth to mock at the gloom and -ugliness of the thing beneath it. A gloomier, sillier, dirtier street -than Bovingdon Street I do not wish to see. But I have seen such all the -same. Indeed, I have looked upon some filth and squalor beside which -Bovingdon Street is as the Mall compared to Worship Street. So much I -must admit in common fairness. - -There was at least no actual squalor in the street on which I looked: -only dirt and gloom and ugliness. The houses which faced me were -comparatively new, and they were small and neat, and of a square and -thick-set build. But there happened to be one hundred and sixty of -them, each exactly like its neighbour, and having each before its -doorway a small pale or enclosure containing--cinders and rags and -pieces of paper and battered cans and smudgy babies and hungry cats. -And there was grime on all the windows, and in front of them a very -vulgar man was selling bloaters, loudly. Also, in all that soot-brown -avenue there was one white thing: a hawthorn tree in bloom, which -shuddered gently in the fog-shine like a discontented spectre. And -those ridiculous fat houses stood there stoutly, shoulder to shoulder, -one hundred and sixty of them, eyeing her with dolour. And a voice -beneath my window made speech, saying loudly: "You give me my daughter's -combings back, ye thievin' slut." So I left the window and lighted a -pipe and crawled back into bed. - - * * * * * - -And then, as the story writers say, a strange thing happened. There -came a sudden tap upon my bedroom door, and without further warning -there entered in a--a lady. She was rather a young lady, to be sure, -some fifteen years of age, perhaps. And she was wearing a petticoat--a -striped petticoat--and her hair was dressed into innumerable pigtails, -and her top was covered by--by a--a--don't they call it a camisole? And -she bade me "Good-morning," very calmly. - -"G--G--Good-morning!" I responded. I hoped to heaven that I was not -blushing. - -"Don't trouble to scream," said the lady, in an off-hand manner. "It is -all right: I have come for my stockings." - -"Really," I began, a little hotly, "_I_ haven't ta----" And then I -stopped. A horrible thought presented itself to me. - -Doctor Brink no doubt combined the practice of alienism with that of -spot-cash cures. And this lady was doubtless an "inmate." And---- - -The voice of the inmate interrupted me. "It's quite all right, really it -is. I'm not accusing you of theft or anything else. I only want to get -my stockings from this cupboard. Mrs. Gomm, our 'char,' she mixes -things up so. And I want a brown pair, because this is my day for being -respectable with my aunt at Ealing, and you wear your brown dress and a -neat toque for that sort of thing; and where the devil that woman -has--oh, here we are. Want darning, of course. Damn!" - -Swearing seemed to be a widespread habit in this unusual household. I -coughed--the sort of cough you use when children are present and your -deaf Uncle David is reviving his recollections of India in the sixties. - -"I say," protested my visitor, "you really needn't look so worried. -It's all right, really. This is my room, you know; theoretically, you -know. Only I always sleep in the bathroom (we've got a bath-room, you -know, and there's a lid to it, and I sleep on that), and I always sleep -there because it's a long way from Fatty, and I can't hear him raving -when the night-bell rings. And Fatty----" - -"Pardon me," I cried, "but who is Fatty?" - -The lady looked at me a little blankly. "Who is Fatty?" she repeated, -but then broke off, a light as of understanding in her eye. "I was -forgetting," she said. "Of course, you wouldn't know. Well, it is like -this, you see. This house belongs to a man called Brink, who is a -doctor and----" - -"I know all that," I assured her. - -"Oh, you do know all about it, then," quoth she; "I wasn't sure, you -know. Most of the strange people that I find in my bedroom if I happen -to look in for anything don't know anything at all about us. Fatty -finds them--gathers them up, you know--and brings them home and feeds -them and converts them to Socialism and puts them to bed, and when they -wake up in the morning they have to have it all explained to them. -Fatty is Dr. Brink, you know. One always calls him Fatty, because his -proper names are Theobald Henry de la Rue, and you simply haven't time -in the mumps season. You're a reformer, I suppose? What do you -reform?" - -"Reform!" I cried, "what do _I_ reform? Why, I don't reform at all. -I've never reformed a blue-bottle." - -"But surely you're against something or other. You _must_ be against -something!" - -"Oh, well," I answered, "if it comes to that, I--I----" - -"Just so," assented the lady. "Don't go into particulars. They _all_ -particularise. I could stand much from you--more than usual, I -mean--because you are clean-shaven, and that is such a change from most -of the other powerful thinkers whom one finds here in the morning. They -are staunch, you know, and sound on the Education Question and all that -sort of thing, and they are a useful hobby for Fatty to take up; but -they're rather old and solemn, as a rule, you know. And they _do_ go -into details! Now _you_ seem rather jolly; and when you've got up and -we've been properly introduced and I've boiled your egg, I'll show you -my white rats. Do you like white rats?" - -"I adore them," said your servant. - -"Good. And, I say, I hope you won't mind, but you'll have to toilet -yourself in the kitchen sink. Our 'char's' such a rotter, you know, and -I see she hasn't filled your jug--she never does--and she doesn't come -till ten, and I've got to finish dressing, and Fatty's out on a call, -and there's all the breakfast to get; and when you've done your toilet -_do_ you mind just putting a match to the gas stove and sticking a -kettle on? Thanks awfully." ... My fair guest flung herself upon the -door. All of her, save a corner of the stripy petticoat, had -disappeared, when I put in _the_ important question. - -"I say," I cried, "who _are_ you?" - -"Me," cried a voice from behind the door--"me? Oh ... I am James." - - - - - *III* - - *FIRST IMPRESSIONS* - - -With breakfast came the opportunity of renewing my _entente_ with James. -That young lady appeared now fully clothed in the conventional garments -of her age, even to a pinafore with seven pockets. - -"What do you put in all those pockets?" I inquired, as she tripped in -with the bacon. - -"Most of them," she answered, "contain white rats.... I thought," she -added, eyeing me closely, as I drifted in a thoughtful manner to the far -end of the table, "I thought you _adored_ white rats?" - -"That is quite so," I responded. "The dear, dumb creatures! I--I -idolise them." - -"_Why_ do you idolise them?" demanded James, putting on a very subtile -smile. - -"Because," I answered, "because they--they are so dumb and--and so -white." - -"Then why do you shudder at them?" - -I explained my attitude towards white rats. "It is not fear which makes -me seem to shrink," I pointed out, "only a sense of--of--well, you see, -the white rats which I have previously adored were confined within a -cage, which contained a sort of treadmill, which they worked with their -feet, and you watched this talented display from a distance, and -wondered if they never grew tired. But----" - -"Those wheel-cages," interpolated James, "are the most damnable -contrivances which were ever invented. Whenever I see one I buy it and -burn it. That is one reason why I happen to have so many rats. I think -that the people who make those things ought to be devoured by locusts. -I----" - -"You also have the spirit of reform, then?" I ventured to suggest. - -"Reform!" echoed James, with a bitter laugh. "Because one hates to see -things tortured? _I_ call it common decency. All of Fatty's friends -have got some wonderful new name for being decent. One of Fatty's most -particular friends is a rather awful man named Boag, and he is a public -accountant, and he wears spats, and he calls himself a Conative -Meliorist; and if you ask him why, he says it is because he believes in -making people happy. 'Conative Meliorist'! Think of it! Sounds so -expensive, doesn't it? He pronounces his name in two jerks--Bo--ag, and -it always reminds me of Asheg, Mesheg, and Abednedgo.... He looks -exactly like them, too! 'Conative Meliorist'! It is much easier to -call yourself just James." - -"Why _do_ you call yourself 'James,' by the way?" - -"Let us stick to the point," responded James. "It is so like a man to -dodge your arguments when he can't upset them. What was the point?" - -"Conative Meliorism," I suggested. - -"That was merely a passing reference. There was something else which -reminded me of Mr. Boag. Something which reminded me of something which -reminded me of something which remind--I remember now. We were talking -of white rats. You were pretending not to hate them. You were trying -to deceive me. Your pretendings don't take me in the leastest bit, so -you may just as well chuck them up. Be honest. Be a man. Stand up -like an English gentleman. Say what you feel about them. Do not fear to -shock my virgin ears because----" - -"How old are you, James?" I hoped that my simple, honest, obvious wonder -would disarm the question of its point. - -The lady gazed upon me with an air of bland surprise. "That is a -question," she answered, with great gravity, "which I never discuss. It -isn't fair to Fatty. _Do_ sit down. Was it sugar and no milk, you said; -or milk and no sugar? And will you have hysterics if Sunshine joins the -circle? He always breakfasts with his mother. Oh, de minna, tinna, -tooney Sunshine, den." - -Sunshine was a rat--the whitest and roundest and fattest of them all. - - * * * * * - -I, nevertheless, contrived to breakfast well. Sunshine's mistress was -thoughtful enough to curtail the radius of that minna, tinna, tooney -animal's accustomed beat: with the result that I was able to keep my -seat. And his mistress stayed him with dainties and prattled cheerfully -upon a variety of strange subjects. It was no good waiting breakfast -for Fatty, she explained, because Fatty's "call" was a "midder." - -"And what in heaven's name," I demanded, "may a 'midder' be?" - -"That," explained James, "is what Fatty calls an 'obstetric term.' When -people have babies, you know. Do you know what 'B.B.A.' means?" - -I didn't. - -"That's another trade expression. It stands for 'Born Before Arrival,' -and it's what you always pray for, because it saves a lot of time, and -they have to pay you just the same. Our fee is half a guinea, and you -can pay it by instalments if you like. But if it is your first baby we -charge a guinea, because your husband is a lot more trouble to us, and -he is not always sober. And whatever the fee, we do our very best for -you, and pride ourselves on our results; but as we get about seven -'midders' every day, we are not able to make so many compliments as we -did in Norfolk.... Fatty calls it his Automatic Delivery System." - -The girl, as she spoke, looked very "nice" and English: she was feeding -Sunshine from a fork. I began to wonder whether it was actually -possible that she did not realise the horrible impropriety of her -conversation. As an Englishman, I knew my duty. That duty was to -represent to her in suitable terms that her conduct was abandoned and -impure. But the religious duty of causing maidens to blush is one which -is best performed by the Righteous, who perform it so well and often.... -I concealed my horror. - -And the maiden prattled on. "Some of them are fearfully grateful. Do -you see that old stuffed owl in the dusty case, there? That's a -present--to me. It only came yesterday, and it's a token of gratitude -from a Jewish lady in the fish trade. This is her sixth, and the first -five were all girls. She used to deal with our opposition--Dr. -McWhite--but when the fifth female came along they changed over to -Fatty, and this stuffed owl is what he calls a tribute to professional -ability. And there's Fatty's key in the door. Seize his bacon, will -you--it's in the fender." - -I was rather annoyed with Dr. Brink for returning just then. I had -mapped out a series of leading questions designed to elicit James's age -and identity. - -But when the little hungry man came in, I felt that these questions were -unimportant and could wait. It was interesting enough to help that busy -scientist to mustard, and to hear him curse the Liberal Government with -his mouth full of bacon, and to watch the quiet motherliness of James. - -"Regular multitude in the waiting-room," announced the doctor, as he -gulped his coffee. "Got to get back there quick. You'd better pop down -with me, youngster, and get a squint at it all." - -"You sit on the gas-stove in the kitchen," explained James. "There's a -window just above it which gives on to the consulting-room, and it's -painted on the kitchen side, and I've scratched a little squint-hole in -the paint.... I often go down there when the drunks come in--the -_funny_ drunks, I mean. Sometimes they are not funny. And Mr. Boag, the -Conative Meliorist, sits there by the hour. He calls it 'supping with -misery.'" - -"You'll spend the day with us, I suppose?" suggested the little doctor. -And, as it was Saturday, and therefore a holiday in my trade, I supposed -that I would. - -And then they introduced me to the gas-stove. - - - - - *IV* - - *SIXPENCES* - - -I sat on the gas-stove, with James beside me, and we applied our eyes in -turn to the squint-hole and beheld the Doctor earning sixpences. - -_Item:_ A young gentleman with the hiccoughs. Was feeling suicidal. -How was his appetite? Shocking, shocking! Digestion in good order? On -the contrary, it was shocking bad. What sort of nights? Shocking! -Spirits low? Shocking low. Did his head ache? Shockingly. Food taste -dull? Absolutely shocking. Young gentleman receives some advice on the -subject of alcoholic excess and a bottle of water, fortified by harmless -colouring matter. Young gentleman departs. - -_Item:_ Tired woman with baby in convulsions. Baby's dietary discussed. -Woman indignant. "Why," she declares, "'e 'as the very same as us!" -Baby dismissed with a powder. - -_Item:_ Slow-spoken man with a jellied thumb. "Door jamb," he explains. -"Want a stifficut. Works at the Brewery. Want another stifficut for -the Insurance. 'Urry up. 'Ow much? Good-day." - -Then an old woman came in--a very old woman, with rosy cheeks and a -clean apron, and querulous, childish eyes. - -"I want some morphium," she says, "to soothe meself down. Not that I -got a right to look for much--at my age." - -The doctor became jocular. "What!" he cried. "A fine woman like you? -Morphia for you? What? With those cheeks? _What?_" - -"I ain't got no happetite," said the old woman. "And there's shooting -pains in me 'ead, and I don't sleep proper, and I seems to feel -lonesome, and I wants some morphium to soothe meself down with." - -"What's your favourite dinner dish?" inquired our inconsequent wag of a -doctor. - -"I ain't got no favourites," replied the woman. "I'm old, I am; what -should I do with favourites at my age? I want some morphium to soothe -meself down." - -"What _is_ your age--sixty?" - -"I shall never see sixty again," said the woman. "Nor I shan't see -seventy. Nor eighty. I'm old." - -"And you mean to tell me," cried the doctor, with sudden heat, "that you -do not care for tripe? Good tripe, mind you--tender tripe, very well -boiled, with just a flavouring of onions?" - -"And if I did," protested the woman, "who's to cook it for me? There's -so many young women to get the favours now I find, and me so old. Can't -I have a little morphium, Doctor: the brown mixture, ye know? To soothe -meself down with." - -"The young ones get the favouring, eh? Do you live with a young woman?" - -"I lives with two on 'em--worse luck." - -"Daughters?" - -"Daughters? Me? No, sir. I'm a maiden, I am.... It's me landlady -what I lives with." - -"Doesn't she cook for you? I've got some tripe in the kitchen, and I -thought--but, of course, if it can't be cooked, why---- What's all this -about?" - -The rosy-cheeked old maiden was crying, "I'm too old," she sobbed; "it's -the young ones gets the favouring." - -"Oh," said the doctor, "and so your landlady is unkind?" - -"Not unkind, sir," said the woman, gently swallowing the doctor's bait; -"she's a good woman, as they go, only I'm growed so old, and a young -woman has come into our house, and I'm sorry to say, doctor, as she has -'leniated my landlady away from me. She is a young woman." - -"Can't you get some other lodgings?" suggested the doctor. "You oughtn -t to be neglected." - -"I do not say I ham neglected, Doctor. That would be huntrue. I am not -blaming anybody. I honly say I'm old. And this new lodger she's -'leniated my landlady away from me. She's young, you see. Well under -seventy, she is." - -They're all alike, these minxes," said the doctor, with a wistful smile. - -"I got nothing to say agin her, mind you," protested the old woman. -"Not agin neether. My landlady, she was very good and kind to me at one -time; but now this young one 'ave come, and I ham sorry to say as she -'ave 'leniated my landlady away from me." - -"I shouldn't fret about the matter, anyhow," suggested Dr. Brink. -"You'll make friends with your landlady soon again; I'm sure you will." - -"We was never bad friends," explained the woman. "We're friends to-day, -on'y not _sich_ friends, if you understand me. This new lodger, you -see, she has 'leniated my landlady away from me. That's what it is. She -'ave leniated her. She's a _young_ woman, you see! ... Will you give me -some morphium, Doctor; just to soothe meself down with?" - -The maiden got her morphia. - -The maiden was succeeded by another woman--a mother. She carried a -bundle, partly occupied by a baby. She was a lewd and dirty woman, and -engaged my friend in the following dialogue. - -FEMALE: I warra soothin' surrup for my baby yere. 'E's fidgety. - -DOCTOR: How fidgety? - -FEMALE: Well: look at the little blighter. 'E's got the blasted jumps. - -DOCTOR: Of course he's got the jumps. He's dying. - -FEMALE: Warra mean--dyin'? - -DOCTOR: I mean that he will soon be dead. - -FEMALE: Whaffor? - -DOCTOR: Because he's starving. - -FEMALE: Warra mean--starving? - -DOCTOR: I mean that he is squirming mad from hunger. Breast fed, of -course? - -FEMALE: Warra mean, ye bleatin' image? - -DOCTOR: Breast fed, of course? - -FEMALE: Ye bleatin' image! 'Oo the 'ell you think _you_ are? - -DOCTOR: Breast fed, of course? - -FEMALE (_weeping wildly_): Me starve my baby? Ow, ow, ow, ow! - -DOCTOR: Breast fed, of course? - -FEMALE: Ow, ow--why cert'nly 'e's breast fed! 'Ow else d'ye think a -pore workin' woman's goin' ter manage? And 'im not five months old. -And one of yere own deliveries. Cert'nly e's breast fed. - -DOCTOR: That's the trouble, you see. No baby can be nourished on gin -and stout. He's starving, I tell you. - -FEMALE: And I tell ye it's a dirty lie. I'm for ever feedin' 'im. 'E's -for ever worryin'. Sich a happetite this little beggar's got. Warra -mean, me starve 'im? Warra mean, yere gin and beer? I suckle the little -dear meself. - -DOCTOR: And what do you feed yourself on? - -FEMALE: That's my business, ain't it? - -DOCTOR: It's my business, too. If you want that baby to live, you'd -best look sharp and feed him. Get sober. I can't cure the baby. The -only person who can cure him is yourself. And to do that you must leave -off getting drunk. You must eat some decent food. You're living on -alcohol at present. No baby can be nourished on gin and stout. - -FEMALE: S'elp me Gawd, Doctor--s'elp me Gawd, young man, if I die this -minute--s'elp me Gawd I ain't 'ad only two 'arf-pints since yisterday. -I take them a-purpose for the boy's own sake, young man. 'E don't seem -to fancy it, some'ow, unless I 'as me drop o' stout. See what I mean, -Doctor? I takes what I do for the baby's own sake: 'e _will_ 'ave it, -bless 'is little 'eart. - - - - - *V* - - *THE HYPOCRITES* - - -During a lull in the sixpenny battle Dr. Brink held parley with me, -standing on the seat of his official chair and peering through the top -of his consulting-room window. "Are you comfortable on that gas-stove?" -inquired the learned doctor. - -"The gas-stove," I said, "is very well; but--er--comfort, you know, is -not exactly the word. It--it--I say, you know, that woman with the -dying baby was rather quaint." - -"This," said the doctor, "is a quaint sort of gas-stove. We often roast -chaps on it. Do you like beer?" - -"Not much," I answered, "but my brother plays the flute." - -"Because," pursued my host, ignoring this effort at repartee, "my -consultations are nearly over for this morning, and then I am going my -round, and that is a short one, and I shall be back here by one o'clock, -and after that I propose to brew some beer. Would you like to help me?" - -The proposition was not without a certain suddenness, but I was getting -used to this household, and did not betray my surprise. Also, I accepted -the invitation. - -"Righto! Come about yourself? How's your appetite?" said the doctor, -in one breath, as he disappeared from the window and readdressed himself -to business. - - * * * * * - -And in the afternoon we duly did this brewing. - -"One brews in Baffin's studio," explained the doctor, with a slight -yawn, as he led me through the kitchen door into his little yard, all -bright with tulips. "Baffin's studio is really our washhouse, you -know." - -"And who is Baffin?" I demanded. - -"One of the Leicestershire Baffins," replied the doctor gravely. "His -mother was a Pillbrook. His uncle----" - -I begged the doctor to restrain his gift of humour. "Where is Baffin? -What is he?" I demanded again. - -"Oh," said the doctor, "if you are really commonplace enough to be -interested in a man himself when you ask, "who he is," I will expound -this Baffin to you. He has red hair and freckles, and he is one of the -Leicestershire Baffins, and he hates the Leicestershire Baffins, and he -is a youth of great talents, who is supposed to live here, but at -present he is reforming the Royal Academy, and reviving poster art in -England. And he never puts anything where he will find it again, or -shuts a drawer or folds his clothes. He is a genius. And---- Look out, -I say, that's Baffin's bag." - -It _was_ Baffin's bag, and it assisted your servant in the performance -of a complicated somersault. Baffin had left it on his doorstep. - -Baffin's doorstep led into quite the wildest washhouse which I have ever -viewed. Baffin's bed, consisting of three brown blankets strewn oddly -upon a damaged ottoman, occupied most of the foreground, and behind this -object lay, in some confusion, waistcoats, and easels, and broken -chairs, and bas-reliefs, and unclean collars, and portfolios, and -fencing sticks, and a rusty helm and vizor out of Wardour Street. And -the walls were covered with crayon drawings and printed posters, all of -them attached to the plaster by means of one corner and a pin, and all -of them being curled at the edges and tanned with exposure. It was -noticeable, also, that a bust of the Blessed Virgin, after Cinquevalli, -was situated within the font or cavity of the copper. We removed this -object in order to make room for the beer. - -I observed also that Mr. Baffin's studio was beautified by one mural -design of a permanent nature. This consisted of a sum in compound -arithmetic, performed by means of charcoal. I studied this inscription -with interest. There was - - £3 5 - 20 - ----- - £65 0 - - -A fairly obvious, if unconventional, piece of mathematical deduction. -We were then faced with a new problem, somewhat more mysterious in its -workings. Thus:-- - - 65 - 98 - -- - 13)163(12 Carry 3 - 13 - -- - 33 - 26 - -- - 7 - 12 - ---- - 12/7 - ---- - Total £1 12s. 7d. - - -I must own to being strangely touched by this pathetic effort on the -part of Baffin to solve the mysteries of an alien art. I also reflected -that the result of his calculations, though wayward and inscrutable in -itself, was probably touched with a profound and poignant importance to -Baffin. It represented cigarettes and dinners--£1 12s. 7d. worth, more -or less. A fellow-feeling made me fear it must be less. There was a -hurried, insignificant, shamefaced look about the figures wherewith -Baffin had recorded his results. They indubitably pointed to a debit -balance. - -Presently Mr. Baffin himself strolled in, and we were presented to each -other, and he helped us boil the beer. He helped us in intention rather -than effect, for Mr. Baffin possessed a thoughtful, halting, -introspective mind, and, as Dr. Brink had observed, he did not put -things where they could be found again. Also, he was rather wrapped up -in me. "I say, you know," he had observed, "I wish you would sit for -me. You would make a splendid model for my oyster seller. I am doing -the New Cut by night, you know." - -"Are you in love?" demanded Mr. Baffin, a little later. I said, "Of -course." "Will you bring her round, then?" continued Mr. Baffin. "And -to what end?" I said. "I am collecting lovers," explained this talented -and candid youth. "I want that rapt look. Paid models are no use at -all, you know. Amateurs aren't much better, of course, because they all -have prejudices against yearning in public. But I am hoping to find the -exception in time, and you have a natural sort of -expression--rather--and so I thought--I give you tea, you know, and -drinks when there are any. All you have to do is to sit on the throne -and embrace. I hope she's dark. Next Tuesday would be a good day." - -I promised Mr. Baffin that I would submit his proposition to all the -ladies with whom I happened to be in love. - -And then the liquid in the copper arrived at a perfect temperature and -we became all silent in the pursuit of brewing. And James came in to -help us, observing that the attractions of brewing transcended those of -her aunt at Ealing, and that she had postponed her visit to that -respectable lady. And some of the doctor's friends looked in, including -Mr. Pudsey, the lyric poet, and Boag (conative meliorist), who invited -me to dine with him, and Jenny Brown, the painter, and Miss Blick, of -the Women's Social and Political Union, and Mr. Webb, the local curate, -who explained to me, with an air of bold originality, that Christianity -and Socialism had points in common. And we partook of tea from Breton -mugs, and were secretly amused at each other. And in the midst of it -all a gas engine arrived at the surgery door, and said "Honk! Honk!" -And the doctor rushed out and came back looking sad. - -"It is Lady Budge, the new member's wife," he said with dolour; "and she -has come in her motor to discuss the poor. James, old girl, I am awfully -sorry, but you have got to be respectable. Her ladyship is waiting -upstairs now." - -A period of wild excitement followed, while we all helped James to comb -her hair and climb into the speckled pinafore of a blameless life. "I -will do my best," said James; "but I am sure I shall forget and call you -'Fatty.' Is it father or papa to-day?" - -"Her ladyship," responded the doctor, "is, I think, the kind of ladyship -who would prefer papa. Let her do all the good she wants to. Mention -that we've got a curate here. Webb and I will come up in a little while -and collect the cheque. Don't harrow her. She's the kind of ladyship -who likes to do business with _respectable_ poverty." - -When, a little later, we went upstairs, James was sedately sipping more -tea from a cup. And her ladyship was talking, and James was viewing her -with eyes of innocence and wonder. "I quite agree with you," said -James, "that alpaca is the most sensible thing for people of that -class." - -Baffin was dragged in, and the doctor loudly proclaimed him as being of -the Leicestershire Baffins, and her ladyship suddenly looked interested -and human. - -"You are an artist?" she said. "How very charming!" - -Baffin, who had done very well up to then, became suddenly ponderful -again. "I say," he blurted forth, at last, "couldn't I persuade you to -sit for me some time? You are the very thing I have been looking out -for. For my angel's back, you know." - - - - - *VI* - - *CONATUS* - - -I accepted Mr. Boag's invitation and dined with him--at the National -Liberal Club. They wine you at this place in a manner which is -singularly perfect. I cannot, at this distance of time, state exactly -what topics formed the subject of Mr. Boag's improving conversation; but -I can say that, regarded from the standpoint of Meliorism, his dinner -was an emphatic success. And when it was quite over I found myself upon -the Thames Embankment smiling cheerfully, as was becoming to the happy -circumstance of my conversion to Mr. Boag's cheerful doctrines. - -And thus it was that I came to take part, unofficially, at another -dinner party; a repast _à deux_, with epigrams, and incident, all in the -most approved style of romance. The _tête-à-tête_ is consecrated to -literature by a thousand charming precedents. I shall certainly offer -no apology for submitting this one to your indulgent consideration. - -They were dining off alabaster--or was it granite?--at the foot of -Cleopatra's Needle; and I remarked particularly the singular blueness of -Strephon's fingers. The glorious revelation, recently vouchsafed to me, -of Conative truths, had so warmed my heart, had set up such a tingling -within my veins (which were themselves protected from chill by several -layers of wool and cambric) that the few degrees of frost prevailing at -the moment had not yet become evident to my senses. Strephon, of -course, was in another case, being appropriately clad in garments -partaking of the nature of gossamer. And he, besides, had not been -privileged to receive the truths of Meliorism. Wherefore, he must blow -upon his nail, and pinch his scrubby cheek, and utter blasphemies, -crying, "Christ, mate, but this wind ain't 'arf a nipper." - -And she (the Chlöe of this story: the one whom he addressed as "mate") -made answer thus: "Then do as I tell you, an' drink that up!" - -"But 'ere, 'old 'ard!" cried Strephon, as she poked a little bottle at -his lips--"that's your share, ain't it?" - -"Not be rights," said the woman, blushing a little--or seeming to blush; -for she was a battered, sodden thing, and her cheek had lost its -quickness. "It ain't my share, be rights. I--I 'ad a sip at yourn. -Besides, I've lorst me liking fur that Irish stuff. Give me Scotch!" - -"This _is_ Scotch, ain't it?" said the man. - -"It is, bad luck to it," replied the woman quickly. "I've lost me -likin' fur it, I tell you. Give me Irish!" - -"Oh!" said the man, and he swallowed her share. - -He pocketed the empty bottle with a little shiver of contentment. The -woman shivered also, and plucked at an imaginary shawl. "Now then, boy," -she cried, with sudden cheerfulness; "wake up, you ain't 'arf a eater. -Why don't ye punch into that other 'am bone." - -"So I shall," responded Boy, with a full mouth, "when I done this." - -"Righto, dearie," said the woman quietly, with a sideways look at the -ham bone and another little shiver. Then she drew closer to her -companion and looked at him silently, with pity in her awful eyes. -"It's a funny thing about you," she said at last; "you to be on the -rocks at your age--a boy like you!" - -"I'm rather independent in me nature," explained the "Boy." "I've stood -fur me rights and suffered by it. 'Ad some good jobs in me time. 'Ad -some money too. I was a bit lucky over cards. Retired for a year an' -done it in. Ain't 'ad no luck since." - -"Funny, ain't it," said the woman, still with that strange softness in -her shameful eyes. "Funny, ain't it," she repeated: "a boy like you." - -"Not so much o' yere 'Boy,'" protested Strephon; "I'm twenty-four." - -"Ha!" cried the woman, crouching closer, "what price yere 'umble then? -_I'm_ turned forty-four." - -Strephon looked lazily at her, munching his ham bone steadily. She made -a queer figure, strange to see beside that world-old monument, with her -swollen, bloodless face, and button nose, and greedy eyes, and ravelled, -rusty hair, the colour of an old dog-fox's pelt. And that which was -upon her head, a time-worn sailor-hat, set at a ridiculous angle, -increased the queerness of her. "What price yere 'umble?" she cried -again, with a shrill little creak of laughter; "turned forty-four, I -am." - -"Yus," said Strephon simply, "and you look it!" - -He continued to munch at his ham bone, and she continued to leer at him, -showing neither anger nor surprise. But the flat smile on her face grew -gradually flatter, and again she shivered, plucking at the shawl which -was not there. - -Suddenly the man looked up from his ham bone and spoke to her. "'Ow -much did 'e give you for it?" said he. - -The woman uttered a sequence of scalding oaths. - -"The stingy swine," cried she, "'e give me a tanner; that's what 'e give -me--a lousy tanner. See if I don't jolly well pop back there and 'ave a -shawl's worf out of 'is stinkin' till--the stingy Jew." - -"What!" said the man, evincing a sort of interest. "Are you in that -line, then? Tills and ceterer?" - -"I'm in any blessed line, I am," said the woman, "s' long as there's the -price of a fag in it. Never 'eard o' Nottingham Kate, I suppose? -That's me. I was well known in me time. 'Twas I what done that -drugging affair at Weedon, when we put them orficers through it. They -made a lot of that job at the time. I done five year for that." - -"Well," commented Strephon, still gnawing patiently at his bone, "it -ain't much to yere credit. I'm on the straight ticket meself. Per'aps -if I'd knowed the sort of character you--but there: you ain't so bad as -some on 'em. Harlot, or thief, or what not, you've treated me quite -fair.... Gurrr! ... Christ, but it's cold!" - -"Chronic!" said the woman, pressing her senseless fingers to her neck, -in the way which women have. - -"That 'am," reflected Strephon, "just sooted me all right. Wish I 'ad a -fag now." - -Without a word, the woman struggled to her feet, and descended the steps -of the pedestal, half walking, half crawling, like a child. She peered -into the darkness, and must have beheld a figure there; for she at once -came forward, with stiff, uncertain steps, and having spoken to him, -returned to her pedestal the possessor of all his cigarettes. - -"Strike me now," cried Strephon, beholding her treasure with incredulous -eyes; "you _are_ a deep one. You don't 'arf know the ropes. Take one -yerself, won't ye?" - -Chlöe took a cigarette and lighted it; but Strephon, after fumbling -hopelessly with a matchbox, threw the thing away from him in petulant -despair. "See here," cried he. "Look at them things, there! Them's my -'ands; was once. Look at 'em. Gawd 'elp me, look at 'em. I can't bend -'em; I can't move 'em; Gawd 'elp me, I can't ser much as lift 'em. -I----" - -Chide, taking the cigarette from her lips, placed it between his, which -silenced them. And then she took his hands, and with a little laugh--the -same old creak of a laugh--she widened the gaping juncture of her -bodice, and placed his senseless hands within it, where they lay warm -beside her bosom. The sudden contact of the ice-cold substance forced a -little shriek from her. - -"That's a good idea, mate, that is," declared her Strephon. "'Ope you -won't catch cold?" - -"Co-old?" cried the woman, with a little tremor. "Co-ld be damned. Us -women is different from you blo-o-kes. We kin sta-and more cold. We -got more warmth be na-ature." - -"I see," said Strephon, and he blew forth a fat, contented cloud of -cigarette smoke. - -There was a silence, disturbed by the chattering of the woman's teeth. -Then, at last, with a sudden catching of the breath, she spoke again-- - -"'Ere," she said, "'ere"--and she uttered the familiar creak--"I'm doin' -this because I like you. Wonder if you like me?" - -"Ho," reflected Strephon, "you're all right--considering what you are." - - - - - *VII* - - *ON THE PROPERTIES OF WATER* - - -"Doctor ... can you tell me if water is a safe thing for anybody to -drink?" - -She was a wizened, alert little woman, having bright eyes and an eager -face. The back of the doctor's neck, which I spied through my peephole, -grew red under pressure of the secret emotions occasioned by this -question. - -"As to that," replied the doctor, "I--ahem--er--I--well, in -fact--er--ahem--you see, er--Mrs.--Mrs.----" - -"Mrs. Skelp, sir," interpolated the caller. "Mrs. Skelp, of Peacock -Street. You must remember me, sir. I've 'ad you in for me last three." - -"Why, of course, I remember you, Mrs. Skelp," responded the shameless -physician; "your name had slipped my memory. And how are they all -doing?" - -"Nicely, thank you, sir," said Mrs. Skelp. "Excepting," she added, as if -with a sudden afterthought--"the pore little thing what died. Although -I'm sure, doctor--and many's the time I said the same to Skelp--I'm sure -you done _your_ best. Though 'ow you made seven visits of it when the -child was on'y ill five days is a thing I never could--but, there, let -bygones be bygones. About this water now. You think that water's a -safe sort of thing for anybody to drink, Doctor?" - -"It's--ahem--it's a--er--a natural sort of drink, you know," suggested -the doctor. - -"Why, cert'nly, Doctor," admitted Mrs. Skelp. "On'y ... Well, so far as -that goes, you could say the same of milk." - -"You could," assented Dr. Brink. - -"And yet," pursued his patient, "it is well known to all of us what milk -will do for the system. Look 'ow it puffs you out. Look at that baby -of mine, the pore little thing what died. You did your best, Doctor, we -all know, but we've often thought since as milk was at the bottom of it. -It doesn't do for the likes of us to set ourselves up against the -doctor, but you'll remember yerself that I had my suspicions about you -ordering so much milk. 'What _I_ think she wants,' I said, is one of -your biggest bottles of good dark red, and---- But there, let bygones -be bygones. What I really come 'ere for is about this water question. -I says to mine last night, I says--'e's a drayman, you know, Doctor.'" - -The Doctor nodded. - -"Well," suggested Mrs. Skelp, "you know what _draymen_ are. Water's no -drink for a drayman, Doctor." - -"I--I suppose not," ventured the doctor. - -"And mine, 'e's a 'eavy, full-bodied build o' man. And so I says to -'im--but what's the good o' sayin' _anythink_ to 'im. The long and the -short o' it is, Doctor, as 'e's took to the water 'abit. - -"I meantosay," continued Mrs. Skelp, having marked the doctor's grin, "I -meantosay as 'e's sworn off 'is licker. - -"'E's a great reader is mine, you see. 'E sets up in bed for hours o' a -Sunday morning and gets through as much as three-pennyworth o' papers at -a setting. Not that I 'olds with so much readin', mind you. 'Moody boys -an' readin' gals,' we used to say--well, you know the rest, Doctor. -It's a thankless 'abit. - -"But, at the same time, mind you, I believe in the notion that Sunday is -a day of rest. A man's 'ouse is 'is own of a Sunday, I always say. And -so I ain't never raised no objections to mine amusin' 'isself; and I -can't say that no 'arm 'as ever come of my good nature. Not till now. -But now we see the fruits of it. - -"You see, Doctor, 'e's bin reading up the subject o' his vitals. And -the long and short of it is as 'e's took to what 'e calls 'is nature -treatment. Not a tea-cup full o' beer will 'e 'ave inside the 'ouse, -Doctor. Not a spoonful. It's water--water, always water. That an' -cocoa. Fancy a drayman drinking cocoa, Doctor!" - -"Cocoa is a very wholesome drink," asserted the doctor. - -"For supper--yes," assented Mrs. Skelp. "I agree with you there, Doctor. -But 'ooever 'eard of cocoa for breakfast and water for dinner and water -for tea? And not a drop of beer from one week's end to the other? -Fancy a drayman without 'is beer, Doctor!" - -"He is probably much better without it," suggested Dr. Brink. - -"_Better_ without it?" echoed the visitor. "Without beer? A drayman? -Workin' ten an' twelve hours on the stretch? You _live_ with 'im, -Doctor, and see if 'e's better without it ... Not that I wish you no -'arm." - -"And what," said the doctor, looking earnestly at his watch, -"and--er--what----" - -"Well, Doctor," interpolated Mrs. Skelp, "I really come to see if you -could give me a stifficut. We must do something-." - -"A certificate of what?" demanded the doctor. - -"To say 'e needs it--fur the good o' 'is 'ealth, you know. We can never -go on like this. A little stifficut, Doctor, to say 'e needs it." - -"Needs what?" exclaimed the doctor, yawning wearily. - -"The beer," responded Mrs. Skelp. "This water will be the ruin of 'im, -Doctor, and me, too. 'E gets so down'earted, Doctor, so solemn-minded, -so short-spoken." - -"I have already told you, Mrs. Skelp"--the Doctor put on his heaviest -consulting-room manner--"I have already told you that your husband is -probably better off without the beer. How, then, can you expect -me--especially since I haven't seen him--to give you the certificate -which you ask for? And what difference would it make if I did?" - -"'E wouldn't go against the doctor's orders, sir. Skelp is not that -sort of man. 'E knows 'is place, sir. I on'y got to show him a brief -from you, Doctor, to say that what he wants is so many pints to nourish -'is system, and there would be a end to all this nonsense. A drayman -must 'ave beer, Doctor." - -"A drayman must have nothing of the sort, Mrs. Skelp. What a drayman -must have is plenty of rump steak and jam roll and a quiet life and a -jolly time. Why do you want him to have this beer? Are you any better -off when he does have it? The more he spends on beer the less there is -for the home, you know." - -"Mine ain't that sort," asserted Mrs. Skelp, with a touch of asperity in -her tone: "_I_ keep Skelp's money. What he wants--is beer. The man's -got that down-'earted 'e isn't fit to live with. A drayman must 'ave -beer." - -Dr. Brink inspected his watch again. "Well, Mrs. Skelp," he said, -"you've had more than your share of my time. Send him round to-morrow -evening, and I'll tell you what I think about it. Good-night." - -"My own idea, Doctor," said Mrs. Skelp, as she made her exit, "is a pint -an' a 'arf--let us say two pints--of stout and bitter. But I leave the -particklers to you, sir." - -When she had really gone the doctor saw some other patients--droves of -them. And the last of the drove was a large red man, who had called in -to discuss his "constitootion." - -"It's run down, Doctor," he explained. "That's what it is. Me -constitootion is run down. Whenever I draws a slow, long breath, it is -the same as if there was snakes and scorpions inside me. Very painful -it is." - -"Then take a quick, short breath," suggested Dr. Brink. - -The patient ignored this obvious response. He did not pay his sixpence -to be treated to the obvious. "Also," he continued, "it 'urts me when I -whistle." - -"Then don't whistle," said the doctor. - -"The long and the short of it is," pursued the patient, again ignoring -the voice of science, "that my constitootion is thoroughly run down.... -I ... I was wondering, Doctor.... Can you tell me if water is a safe -thing for anybody to drink?" - -The Doctor started. "Water is Nature's beverage," he observed. - -"But don't you think, Doctor," suggested the invalid, "that when a man -'as got 'is constitootion into a thoroughly onnatural state, the same as -what mine is, that a pint or so of onnatural licker----" - -"Oh ... a pint or so ... yes," put in the doctor. - -"I bin drinking a lot o' water lately," continued the patient. "I -thought I would give it a trial, Doctor, being Nature's beverage and -what not, and so highly spoke of in the papers. But I come to the -conclusion, Doctor, as it don't get on wiv my constitootion. I got a -very peculiar constitootion, Doctor, and it is very much run down. -Whenever I turn me eyes up, Doctor, a 'orrible sickly feeling comes over -me." - -"Turn 'em down then," said the doctor. - -"You don't approve of all this water, then?" inquired the patient. "You -think, per'aps, a pint or two of ale----" - -"A pint or two of ale? Oh, certainly." - -"Or stout, Doctor? Say stout and bitter. A couple o' pints o' stout and -bitter, Doctor; what? To brace up me constitootion like. What?" - -"Stout and bitter," pronounced the doctor, "has, in certain -circumstances, a high tonic value." - -"Thank you, Doctor. Would you be kind enough to put it in writin', -Doctor? I'm a family man, ye see, and seein' as I shall be takin' this -tonic for the good o' my constitootion, I thought per'aps--you see my -meanin', Doctor?" - -"Quite," said the doctor, reaching out for a half-sheet of notepaper. -"Your name and address?" - -"Skelp," responded the patient. "Samuel Skelp, of Peacock Street. My -missus is one o' your oldest customers." - - - - - *VIII* - - *THE WAY OF THE EAST* - - -We had eaten a belated supper and drunk of a belated cup, and the -doctor, yawning cheerfully, had doffed the vestments of respectability, -when there came a ring upon the night-bell. The doctor's comment on -this happening is of no historical importance. It possessed but a -topical interest. Myself, I stumbled down the darkling stairs, and, -upon opening the street door, was confronted by a respectfully -intoxicated giant, who gave the name of Potter. "Potter, of Mulberry -Street," he added, as a more explicit afterthought. He demanded Dr. -Brink, explaining the urgent requirements of Mrs. Potter. - -"Have you your card?" I inquired in the cold, commercial tone which this -occasion warranted. - -Mr. Potter removed his cap--a peaked object, of nautical aspect--and -from the lining of this he extracted a square of pink pasteboard. This -voucher represented at once a receipt and a warranty, being in the first -sense an acknowledgment of the sum of ten shillings and sixpence, paid -to Dr. Brink in anticipation of certain services, and recording, -secondly, a promise from the doctor duly and solemnly to render and -perform those services. "And beggin' yere pardon, young man," said Mr. -Potter, in a voice of gloom, "I was to tell you from me aunt that the -pains is comin' on a treat." - -I had scarcely conveyed this joyful intelligence to Dr. Brink, ere that -gentleman announced himself as being ready to embark upon the enterprise -demanded of him, having clad himself in a fanciful costume consisting of -unlaced boots, slack trousers, a pyjama jacket, an overcoat, and the -inevitable top hat. He cheerfully accepted my offer to bear him company -upon his journey through the night-bound alleyways, and together we -sallied forth. - -But when we came to the first dim street lamp a sudden monstrous shape -appeared within the circle of its radiance, and fawned upon us silently. -I wondered, not too hopefully, whether the things which rattled within -the doctor's bag were of sound and sterling substance. For we were not -regularly armed, and this monster--but he spoke, and thereby set my -doubts at rest. - -"It is only Potter," murmured the monster, with an apologetic shuffle. -"There's some funny birds as stands abaht the corners yere be night, and -Mulberry Street is rather a confusin' street to come at, and I thought -per'aps as you would be alone, Doctor, and so I took the liberty. It is -a cold night for the time o' the year: what? I was to tell you, Doctor, -that the pains is comin' on most beautiful." - -Mr. Potter committed other information to our confidence. He was a -stevedore, he said; and he described the trials of that calling. - -"It is a 'ard life, a stevedore, what with the 'eat and 'urry and all. -Me and my mates, we shifted two 'underd an' twenty tons o' sugar this -very day. But I'm 'oping for a wink o' sleep to-night. What with the -pains so good and all. I could do with some sleep. Not that I wish the -pore woman no 'arm. She bin a decent wife to me. But I seems to want -some sleep. We shifted two 'underd an' twenty tons o' sugar to-day, me -an' my mates. I see you brought your tool kit, Doctor. I find it cold -for the time o' the year. Christ, but I do feel sleepy." - -"I think that I can promise you a wink or two," replied the doctor -cheerfully. "You'll be in bed and asleep before two o'clock." - -"Much obliged to you, Doctor, I'm sure, Doctor," said the stevedore -gratefully. "Me aunt is certainly of opinion that the pains look very -promising. I could do wiv a few hours' sleep. Bin shifting sugar all -the day. Two 'underd and twenty ton we moved, and there's as much -standin' by what I got to punch into termorrow. I'm 'opin' fur a gel." - -We came to Mulberry Street, wherein the residence of Mr. Potter could be -immediately detected, by reason of the fact that its door stood open--a -certain signal in this land of an expected visit from the doctor. We -entered the open doorway, and were greeted cheerfully by auntie--an old, -untidy, work-stained woman, very drunk. - -The stevedore conducted me into a dishevelled kitchen, musty and cramped -and cobwebby. He accepted a cigarette, and spat into the fire, and -looked at me stupidly. "Two 'underd an' twenty ton!" he exclaimed. -"Don't I deserve some blessed sleep?" And there came from some adjacent -place an answering moan. - -I looked through the door of the kitchen and into the grimy little -passage beyond it, wherein an open door gave access to another room. -The doctor was in this room, and auntie, and also, I supposed, the -stevedore's wife. There came from this apartment certain sounds as of -joy and suffering commingled. It is but fair to state that most of the -joyful sounds appeared to be uttered by auntie. Auntie had chased away -dull care. - -It was, indeed, a perfectly refulgent auntie who subsequently lolloped -in upon us, carrying a bundle. "'Ere y' are, ole glum-face," chirruped -auntie; "take young Joe. An' mind as 'e don't 'oller. Where you put -that jug?" - -Mr. Potter seized the bundle, and, loosening its folds, exposed a rather -maculate small boy, having the paternal cast of feature. - -"Look at 'is chest," observed the father simply. "This is ye're sort -for punchin' into sugar. Auntie, where's the other one?" - -"Alf," responded auntie, "is all right where 'e is. Alfie's old enough -to be'ave 'isself. Mind young Joe don't 'oller. Where you put that -jug?" - -Joe's reply was drowned by a pitiful cry which came from the other room. -But auntie found the jug all right. "'Ere's to a gel, ole dear!" quoth -auntie. But ... there came that cry again.... At which the old woman -regretfully parted from us and the jug and returned to her pious duty of -hindering Dr. Brink. - -And Mr. Potter once more directed my attention to the physical -perfections of his offspring. "I'm proud o' this bloke," he said. "My -on'y longin' is to see 'im grow up straight and punch the coal abaht. I -do not grudge 'im nuthink. Y' oughter see 'im of a Sunday: 'e ain't -'arf a nib o' Sundays. Velvets and all, ye know. I 'ope the Doctor 'll -look sharp. I got a 'eavy day termorrer. My missus is a decent woman, -and I don't wish 'er no 'arm; but Gawd knows as I want some sleep be -this time. 'Ere's Fred." - -Fred was a listless youth, kin to the stevedore. And he came in tired -and pale, having "done a whack o' overtime at the pickle works." And he -said no word to anybody, but set a saucepan on the sullen fire and sat -beside it, stupidly, waiting for an egg to boil. "She don't 'arf sing -about it." "What?" demanded the husband, almost savagely. "Ah!" -responded Fred. - -Then there rang out another sound--the voice of auntie, raised in -raucous laughter. "My Gawd!" she cried, "'ow's that for a beauty?" - -Mr. Potter shook the drowsy, silent child upon his knee. "Cheer up, -Joe," he cried; "you're cut out now, me lad. You ain't the baby any -more. D'jeer? Then gimme a bleedin' kiss." - -Auntie appeared for a moment in the doorway. "Boy," said she. - -Mr. Potter's joy was, for a moment, modified by this announcement. "It -was a gel I wished for," he said. "It was a gel we wanted." He rubbed -his chin upon young Joseph's yellow head. - -"But," he continued, beholding suddenly a pleasant truth, "we shall get -some blessed sleep at ennyrate.... Ain't it time that little beggar -started in to cry?" - -But the boy Fred, to whom Mr. Potter presumably addressed himself, -offered no reply. He was engaged in boiling his egg. - -"I _should_ like to 'ear the beggar cry, though," said Mr. Potter -wistfully, after a pause. He rubbed his chin on Joseph's head again. -The boy Fred stirred his saucepan. "Funny, ain't it," mused the -stevedore, "that the little chap don't 'oller?" But as he spoke, the -little chap responded. "That's done it," cried the stevedore, and -rubbed his chin on Joseph's head. - -And then I clearly heard the voice of auntie. "That young man what's -with you, Doctor, is 'e a doctor, too?" - -"Not exactly a doctor," responded Brink; "but he knows quite as much -about medicine as any doctor." - -"Because," pursued auntie, "the young man might like to step in and see -this baby. It's the biggest baby ever _I_ see." - -"So it is," assented the doctor. "So he would." - -He thought, God help him, that it would please me to see inside that -room. - -And so he called to me, and I stepped forward and found myself in front -of a reality. You know the thing, of course: a poor, white woman in a -poor, white bed. And---- But need I describe it? You know it all, -don't you? - -You do not know it. - -I know it--now. I know what is the way of the East. I will tell you -what I saw. - -I saw a bare brown mattress, and on it lay a moaning woman, fully -dressed: _entirely_ dressed. And at her head there lay the new-born -babe, and at the baby's head another child--a child of six. And when I -entered in this child made speech. "Auntie's gointer dress him soon," -he said. - -"This, my pure young friend," said Doctor Brink, "is a typical _mise en -scène_. Every detail is correct." - -"Correct?" squawked the triumphant auntie. "It's a double-adjectived -marvel ... You're a genelman, Doctor!" - -I ran away from this sick-room. I ran out into the rain.... I -observed, as I ran past him, that the boy Frederick had boiled his egg -and was eating it. - - - - - *IX* - - *THE 'POTHECARY* - - -The curious establishment of Dr. Brink contained one curiosity which I -have not yet described to you. His name was Gilkes--Samuel de Quincey -Gilkes--and he was poor and unwashed, and angular and polite, and full -of wonder. - -He was Dr. Brink's dispenser, or, as the natives preferred to have it, -the 'Pothecary. - -Gilkes was a tall man, especially for a 'Pothecary, the races of -'Pothecaries being commonly little and round and complacent. But Gilkes -was a giant of his species; albeit, he was timid and obliging, and -carried his stature with an air of not wishing to create comment. He -had long brown hair and a vague mouth, and very lean hands, with which -he stroked the furniture when he spoke to you. His eyes were blue, but -of an exceptional paleness, and they were restless, seeking eyes, which -looked beyond you, as if they saw the sea with ships upon it. I think -that Mr. Gilkes deserves a little paper to himself. - -I should have told you that he was not a very young man, having reached, -perhaps, his fortieth year. But his heart was filled with a serene and -youthful hope; for he cherished the belief that he would one day pass -his final examination in surgery and medicine, and would take his degree -and figure upon the rolls as a fully licenced practitioner. In the -meantime he was humble. - -I have often listened to his sorrowful reproaches when Dr. Brink, weary -of the delays occasioned by his apothecary's interest in distant ships, -would hurl himself into the little dispensary and concoct the bottles of -light brown with his own hand. - -"You shouldn't, sir," the 'Pothecary would say; "you shouldn't. You -mustn't. It isn't fitting, sir. It isn't proper. It isn't the thing. -I know I'm remiss. I know I'm slow. You ought to discharge me. You -ought to discharge me. I must pass my final. I certainly must. You -oughtn't to do it. Two grains calomel. Two grains calomel. I -certainly must. Certainly. Certainly." And then, his utterance growing -fainter and finally ceasing, the 'Pothecary would rest his chin upon a -hand and look out once again upon the ships at sea, and somebody would -go without his calomel. - -Mr. Gilkes had also the habit of rising late--a detestable habit. And -it therefore happened that the doctor's waiting-room would be filled -with impatient women before his dispenser arrived to make up the "light -browns" and "dark reds," upon which they lavished so much faith. - -But when the 'Pothecary did arrive there was always an apology upon his -lips--the same apology every time. "I'm late again, sir; late again. -Forty minutes late. I'm awful, sir; awful. You will have to discharge -me. I'm always late. I'm awful. It won't do. It isn't fair. I shall -have to go. I must pass my final. Sach. Ust. For Mr. Jenner, sir? -Yes, sir. Sach. Ust. Sach. Ust. I'm awful; awful." - -The doctor and James invariably observed the form of asking him up to -tea. But with equal regularity he would reply with a formula of -plaintive, almost passionate protest. "Impossible, sir. Not for a -minute. You mustn't. You can't. I'm not worth it, sir. It isn't -usual, sir. It isn't the thing. When I've passed my final, -sir--perhaps then. Perhaps then. I _will_ pass my final, sir. I -must." - -And Mr. Gilkes would sight a sail and watch it eagerly with a little -fluttering smile. - -He always dressed himself in shabby black. This emphasised his stature -and the exceeding leanness of him. It also served to disguise the -unnatural colour of his linen, He did not smoke, and they naturally say -that he drank. But I never saw him drunk. He would sometimes look out -upon his ship with the gaze of one who is intoxicated with the splendour -of his visions. But this is not the same as being drunk. - -Wilfered, his successor in the post of 'Pothecary (for you will -understand that Mr. Gilkes became impossible), has placed on record that -"Gilkes fair give you the 'errors, a-talkin' to 'isself the livelong day -and strokin' the bottles and seein' snakes." But Wilfered is young and -strenuous, and efficient. His heart is in his work. He adds the water -to the sugar with extreme exactitude, and, not being versed in the -language of pharmacy, he is convinced that not merely the reputation of -Dr. Brink, but the very lives of all his patients are bound up in the -exact and scrupulous decoction of the liquids committed to his care. -But he does not interest himself in distant ships. - -For myself, I am sorry that Mr. Gilkes became impossible. I like dumb -animals. - -I shall always remember the evening when, coming unexpectedly to the -house, I saw him sitting by a window with the light from the setting sun -upon his face and shabby coat. He was talking to James. And James has -the knack of making people talk much. - -"He writes, does he?" said the 'Pothecary. (I think that the question -must have applied to your servant.) "He would. Of course he would. -Quite naturally. Just so. Of course. Some people can write. They have -the trick. Some people can do anything. Anything. I must pass my -final. They thought I was going to be a writer myself once. To write -poetry, I suppose. 'He's half a poet,' they use to say, 'half a poet.' - -"But I wasn't worth the compliment. I couldn't find the rhymes, you -know. I could see it all--sometimes, you know; but I couldn't find the -rhymes. Once I nearly reached it, but only once--only nearly. You see, -I--I haven't even passed my final. Not yet. But I will. I must. I -nearly did it last time--nearly. Nearly." - -His voice dropped low; so low that you could hardly hear it. And he -looked out to sea again; but not with gladness. I think he saw some -sort of hulk or derelict. - - - - - *X* - - *THE MOTHER'S TRADE UNION* - - -"My motter," said 'Ost 'Uggins decisively, "is 'Live an' let live.' We -won't deny but what the young woman 'as acted wrongful. She 'as broke an -important commandment, as we all know, besides puttin' my 'ole -establishment to expense and inconvenience. Besides upsettin' my good -lady. Besides disgracin' 'er fambily. - -"But at the same time I can't forget that my mother's father was 'isself -a fondling. And we live in a Keristian age. And the one as is most to -blame is the _man_, 'ooever 'e may be, the ugly 'ound. What'll you -take, Doctor?" - -"Ginger b----," began the doctor, having knowledge of the Mile End drink -traffic. But he checked himself, yielding, I suppose, to the reflection -that duty called for a more enthusiastic response to 'Ost 'Uggins's -hospitality. - -"I will have a glass of--of whatever you drink yourself," said the -doctor. - -'Ost 'Uggins favoured us with a heavy wink. His face and figure as he -stood there behind the marble counter of his "saloon compartment" -suggested coarseness and obesity and vulgarity and opulence and -ignorance, and--and manhood. - - They used to say that pigs could fly, - Oh, aye, oh! - They used to say that pigs could fly - A hundred years ago. - - -It is certain that _this_ pig could fly. For "Live and let live" was -his motto. The pig is an animal which is held in unwarrantable disdain -by pious men. - -Having concluded the wink, 'Ost 'Uggins inserted a ponderous hand into a -nook concealed by a framed portrait of himself--it represented Mr. -Huggins in the costume of an Arch Grand something or other of the -Ancient and Vociferous Order of Somebodies--and produced therefrom a -special, private, and particular bottle. This vessel, 'Ost 'Uggins was -at pains to make clear, contained "real licker." He did not pour its -precious golden drops into the muddy stream of commerce; but, on the -contrary, he kept them tightly corked, and in strict reserve for the -appreciative palates of his kindred and convives. "This is the real -thing," said Mr. Huggins; "no sale for it yere." - -"'Ere's to your 'ealth, Doctor," pursued 'Ost 'Uggins, "and to this -young man's as well. And 'ere's wishin' that foolish young female well -over 'er whack o' trouble. What's the missus 'ad to say to you -_to-day_?" - -"Same as before," replied the doctor. "She says the girl's a hussy. She -says she always knew it. She says you are pig-headed and obstinate, and -she _will_ be mistress in her own house, and why don't you put up a -notice saying, 'Beds for lying-in kept here,' and be done with it. And -if the girl had done her duty and attended to business and kept the -glasses washed instead of for ever gossiping with the Jew boys on the -saloon side, this thing would never have happened. And if girls are to -be petted and pampered for being bad, what is the use of having marriage -lines and living decent? She also intimates that your attitude in this -matter is not becoming to a married man. If she were a jealous woman -she _might_ begin to wonder if----" - -Mr. Huggins smiled broadly. "My good lady, as the sayin' goes," quoth -he, "would talk the 'ind leg off a donkey. But we understand each -other, 'er and me, and ... we've buried three. I bin in this business -for forty year, man and boy. I know life. We understand each other, -Doctor. What? 'Ave another. - -"'Live and let live' is _my_ motter. She bin with us three years, that -silly kid. She could go further with the eighteen gallons nor any young -woman as ever served in my bar. Where's she to go if my wife as 'er -way? And the kid? We buried three ourselves, which is a thing what you -might think would soften a woman's 'eart. But it don't, not in circs. -like this. These good women they _got_ no 'eart--not when it comes to -bad women. It's a sort of--a sort of----" - -"Trade unionism," suggested Dr. Brink. And 'Ost 'Uggins, who at first -looked solemn and inquiring, gradually smiled his assent to Dr. Brink's -suggestion. - -"I s'pose poor Phoebe _is_ a blackleg," he mused. "But my motter is -'Live and let live.' She was wonderful coaxing with the disorderlies. -What else my missus say to you?" - -"She said you were looking for trouble." - -"What else?" - -"She said, 'Minx!' 'Damned devil!' 'Disgraceful slut!'" - -"Anythink else?" - -"She said that either the hussy or she would leave this house." - -"And what did _you_ say, Doctor?" - -"I said that the girl was not fit to be moved, and that SHE couldn't be -spared." - -"And what did she say to that?" - -"She said that we had made up a fine old tale between us, I and her old -man." - -"Is that the lot?" - -"That's the lot." - -"Very well then," commented Mr. Huggins. "Do you know what I shall say -to it all, Doctor? I shall say: 'Tut, woman; tut!'" - -"Meaning?" queried the doctor. - -"Meaning?" echoed 'Ost 'Uggins, as he thumped his fist upon the counter, -not without menace to its marble surface, "meaning that I am a man of -few words: that I _will_ be master in me own 'ouse: that my motter is -'Live and let live.' That I won't see a pore girl drove to ruin not for -all the cantankerous whims of all the cantankerous wives in all----. - -"Below there! 'Ush!" he added, with a sudden dropping of his voice. -"'Ere _is_ the missus!" - - * * * * * - -"Where you gointer, you George?" demanded the missus, as George prepared -to leave us. - -"Goin' to find that fat-'eaded boy, my dear," responded George. -"There's a barrel wants tappin'." - -"There's a lot more than barrels wants tappin' in this 'ouse," said -Mistress Huggins, with an air which was evidently intended to be -significant of much. "What you done with that gel?" - -"Me, my dear?" responded the fist-strong Huggins. "Me? _I_ ain't moved -'er." - -"Time you did, then. When's she gointer leave this 'ouse?" - -'Ost 'Uggins gently but firmly retreated. "I bin discussin' it over with -the doctor, my dear," he explained, upon gaining the little glass door -which led into their private parlour. "'_E'll_ tell you all about it. -That's right, ain't it, Doctor? You'll tell 'er all about it. Don't -forget my motter, Doctor." And Mr. Huggins obliterated himself. - -Mrs. Huggins, upon the contrary, and as it might be, intensified -herself. "Look here, Doctor What-its-name," she said, "I kin spot the -little game what is bein' played between the landlord an' you, same's if -I was partner. You are gettin' up a conspiracy. See? _I_ know it. -_I_ can't be fooled." - -Mrs. Muggins was a mud-coloured woman, with a smouldering eye. She had -rings on every finger and more knuckles than rings. - -"_I_ can't be fooled!" she repeated. "What you doin' with that gel?" - -"Leaving her where she is," responded the doctor. "She really isn't fit -to be moved." He added this information in the tone of one imparting -confidences to a friend. - -"Fit or not fit, do you suppose I'm gointer _let_ 'er stop there? A -low, ondecent 'ussy like what she is, to lie between my honest sheets! -Take the gel away, I tell you! Do you want to make trouble between a man -and 'is wife? Take the gel away!" - -Dr. Brink assumed a highly authoritative tone. "It is my duty as a -doctor, madam," said he, "to warn you that the girl is not fit to be -moved. And your husband, who in law is the responsible head of this -house, agrees with me that----" - -"Why ain't she fit to be moved? Answer me that?" rasped the woman. - -"Because," said the doctor, as 'Ost 'Uggins's expressive features came -peeking round the doorpost, "because a poor girl of twenty who has just -given birth to----" - -"Given birth!" shrieked the woman. _"Given birth_! And in my 'ouse! - -"The disgraceful, shameless thing! And me to be kept in ignorance! And -now I think of it, I did seem to think or fancy as I heered a squallin'. -In _my_ 'ouse above all! May the Lord---- 'Ssh! What's that?" - -"That," explained 'Ost 'Uggins, obtruding a further portion of his face, -"is the little bleater callin' for 'is vittles." - -Mrs. Muggins's face grew strangely red, her lip grew strangely -tremulous. "It's a funny thing to me," she said, "to think as I wasn't -allowed to know.... 'Oo's with 'er?" - -"Mrs. Tuck, from the cabyard," responded 'Ost 'Uggins, "'as laid the -fondling out an' that." - -Mrs. Huggins stamped a foot. "You clumsy fool!" she cried. "What do we -want your Mrs. Tucks for? A drunken piece like she is! Ain't you got -enough to do in the bar without pokin' your nose into a woman's business -like what this is? - -"And me the last to 'ear of it! In me own 'ouse, too! Me that has -buried three. - -"Mrs. Tuck! Fools! Let me pass, you George! That child 'll 'ave -convulsions in a minute! ... Mrs. Tuck in my 'ouse!" - - * * * * * - -"I wish," murmured the doctor hopelessly, as he mopped his forehead, -"that I could understand the rules of their Society." - - - - - *XI* - - *THE DIAGNOSIS* - - -I have heard it said by the enemies of Dr. Brink that he is surly, or, -as some prefer to have it, brusque. I cannot too strongly express my -disagreement with this view. I know the doctor intimately, and I can -assert with confidence that in private intercourse he is the soul of -courtesy, exactitude, and punctilio. If, during business hours, he -becomes what Mrs. Duke calls "crisp"--and I won't deny that this thing -sometimes happens--it behoves us, as an audience of Christian people, to -view this failing with the eye of charity, and to think of the -temptations which the poor man has to face. - -Bovingdon Street has many graces; but gifts of mind are not conspicuous -amongst them. The capacity for giving evidence is possibly an instinct -and possibly an art, and even more possibly it is both. But it is a -certain thing that working a mangle makes you stupid. Which, of course, -accounts for Mrs. Rafferty. - -She called in yesterday--a little, jug-shaped woman, having a limp -fringe and mysterious pains. She is a fine example of the sort of -temptation which is always luring on the Doctor to display his horrible -power of crispness. She is a fine example of the Bovingdon Street -matron. - -I happened to be helping James to make a pancake when she came along, -and I was therefore privileged to overhear the particulars of Mrs. -Rafferty's disorder. And if I record exactly the dialogue to which I -listened, you will be able to judge as well as I or Mrs. Rafferty -whether the Doctor's sixpennyworth of diagnosis was value for money. -Behold, the chronicles:-- - -MRS. RAFFERTY: It's my pore back I come to see you for, Doctor: that and -a sort of dizziness what takes me in the leg. And me throat is sore. -And I gits sich 'orrid nightmares, Doctor, and I was goin' to arst you, -Doctor, do you think it right for anyone to be always feeling thirsty? -Because---- - -DR. BRINK: How long has this been going on? - -MRS. R.: I don't say as the feelin' thirsty is a unpleasant feelin', -mind you; but I wondered if it was nat'ral. That's all I'm wonderin' -about, Doctor. You can't 'elp noticin' anythin' like that, and anybody -would fancy it's a bit queer to be _always_ feelin' thirsty. And then -the 'eadaches, Doctor! They comes on all so sudden, Doctor--unexpected, -like; and if it wasn't---- - -DOCTOR: How long has this been going on? - -MRS. R.: You can see yerself 'ow pale I'm lookin', Doctor. I 'ad a drop -o' stout for me breakfast 'smornin'--no more'n would fill a teacup, -Doctor--and believe me or believe me not, it brought on the pains that -fearful I was obliged to scream. What do you think is the matter with -me, Doctor? - -DOCTOR: I shall be better able to tell you when you've answered a few -questions. In the first place, how long has this sort of thing been -going on? - -MRS. R.: It's the pain more'n the longness of it, Doctor, which I look -to. And if I close my eyes and touch anythink cold with me 'ands I kin -see a lot of funny green things all in front--floatin', if you -understand me, Doctor. Me 'usband, when 'e was a sowjer abroad in -Dublin, 'e got took with the same thing, along o' eatin' 'ysters in a -onfit state. - -DOCTOR: How is your appetite, by the way? - -MRS. R.: I was wonderin' if me lungs is affected, Doctor. If ever I -drink a cup of very 'ot tea I kin feel a funny sensation right down me -froat. What I reely want is change of hair. - -DOCTOR: Do you drink much tea? - -MRS. R.: It's good tea what we 'ave. - -DOCTOR: Do you drink much tea? - -MRS. R.: And besides, Doctor, I don't see as tea kin 'urt me, because me -an' my 'usband we're rather partickler about the class of---- - -DOCTOR: Do you drink much tea? - -MRS. R.: And then again, Doctor, why should me 'air be fallin' out? I'm -not a old woman. Thirty-six is my age, and I ain't ashamed to own it. -It's a pity me 'air is fallin' out because they say as I'm a -young-looking woman for my age. And---- - -DOCTOR: When did you first notice that your hair was falling? - -MRS. R.: I don't think that the state of me 'air is anythink to be -ashamed of, even now, mind you. But still it ain't a very pleasant -thing, especially at my age. Is it anythink to do with what I eat, do -you think, Doctor? I often wonder. - -DOCTOR: How is your appetite? - -MRS. R.: It isn't the quantity I was thinkin' of, Doctor, so much as the -class of food as we go in for. We both of us got a taste for 'am an' -bloaters, and so forth. - -DOCTOR: Do you enjoy your food? - -MRS. R.: But if me 'air is fallin' out on that account---- - -DOCTOR: Are you a hearty eater? - -MRS. R.: Of course, Doctor, I on'y want to know what's right. - -DOCTOR: You say that your appetite is good? - -MRS. R.: I was sayin' about us bein' partial to 'am and so forth, -Doctor. If you think I oughter stop it, I kin easy do so. I on'y -wanter do what's right. What's your opinion about me, Doctor? You can -see I'm very ill. - -DOCTOR: I'm giving you some medicine, Mrs. Rafferty--you've brought your -bottle, I see--it's a strong tonic, and there are three pills with it, -which---- - -MRS. R.: I forgot to arst you, Doctor. Do you think a drop of stout--as -much as you kin get into a egg-cup--would 'urt a little boy of five -years old what's got a poverty of 'is blood? There's a neighbour o' -mine--a very nice woman--wh---- - -DOCTOR: About these pills, Mrs. Rafferty: I want you to take one when -you get in, one before you go to bed, and one---- - -MRS. R.: Can I take a little slice of 'am, Doctor, or must I live on -slops and that? - -DOCTOR: You can eat exactly what you please. This medicine will put you -right. It is a very strong, dark red tonic. Do you understand about the -pills, now? - -MRS. R.: She's a nice woman, and it's sad to see her strugglin' along by -'erself wiv that boy to keep. And so I told 'er---- - -DOCTOR: Send her round to see me. You'll get your medicine from the -dispenser. - -MRS. R.: About me wrists, Doctor: I find that one is thicker than---- - -DOCTOR: Come and see me again when you've finished that medicine. Pay -outside. - -MRS. R.: And, Doctor, is there anything more besides the physic? I -thought perhaps you would give me a pill. - -DOCTOR: I am giving you three pills. One of them I want you to take -when you get in, another at night, and---- - -MRS. R.: About the money, Doctor: I s'pose as it'll do if I pay next -week? - - - - - *XII* - - *THE TUSKERS* - - -It has not been the fortune of the present historian to enjoy a personal -experience of the state of matrimony. But he has never been lacking in -awe for the wonders attaching to that institution. It has always seemed -to him, looking upward, as it were, from the mire of bachelordom, that -the married mind is subject to rare emotions, productive of a singular -philosophy which one must view with astonishment, if not with envy. - -In illustration of my meaning, permit me to cite the case of the -Tuskers. - -The Tuskers, as we were definitely informed by Mr. Tusker, have been -tasting the wedded blisses for nearly eighteen years. And Mr. Tusker -called in recently at Doctor Brink's in the matter, as he expressed it, -of "any old bottles, any old rags; old bones, rabbit-skins, waste paper -to buy," which somehow looks wrong. Let us try again-- - - Any old bottles? - Any old rags? - Old bones, - Rabbit-skins, - Waste paper, - To buy! - - -That is better. Mr. Tusker is nothing if not lyrical. - -Also, he is a massy-jawed person in a muffler, having a dent over one -eye and a limpy walk. Likewise, he is accompanied by an objectionable -smell, arising partly from his trade, profession, or occupation. It is -an impressionist sort of smell. The impression it suggested to me was -that Mr. Tusker had been subjected to long, long years of solitary -confinement in an over-heated chicken-coop. - -Mr. Tusker, having recited his little poem, was rewarded by a "Not -to-day, thank you," from Doctor Brink. - -"What?" cried Mr. Tusker. "Not any old bottles; any old rags?" - -"No," insisted Doctor Brink. - -"Ho," quoth Mr. Tusker. "Right you are, then. One minute, Doctor. The -missus. Ahtside. Can I trouble you?" - -"How?" inquired the doctor. - -"You know, mate," expounded Mr. Tusker. "Below par. Orfer oats. See? -Jes' run the rule over 'er, Doctor; will ye?" - -"Certainly," replied the doctor, the light of intelligence at last -illuminating his eye. "Bring the lady inside." - -Mr. Tusker accordingly repaired to the roadway, where his barrow was in -waiting. It was a roomy barrow, filled to overflowing with bulging -sacks, one of which, being pushed, came to life as Mrs. Tusker, and -walked into Doctor Brink's consulting-room. - -She was a tired old sack, was Mrs. Tusker, much patched, even as to her -face, which was further distinguished by being bruised in several -places, a fact which accentuated its native homeliness. - -"Below par. Orfer oats," repeated Mr. Tusker, with a jerk of the thumb -in the direction of the old sack. "Jes' run yere rule over 'er, Doc." - -"Had a bad accident, hasn't she?" began the doctor. "That plaster----" - -"Never mind the plaster," said the husband. - -"No," repeated Mrs. Tusker, "never mind that." - -"Orfer oats, see?" prompted Mr. Tusker. - -"Ain't got no appetite," confirmed the lady. - -"'Er system. See?" added Mr. Tusker. - -"Yus," assented Mrs. Tusker. "Me system." - -"Jes' run yere rule over 'er," said Mr. Tusker. - -"Well," mused the doctor, "want of appetite doesn't produce itself, you -know. I mean to say---- Her face now. It's very swollen. The lower -part espec----" - -"Never mind 'er face, ole man," suggested Mr. Tusker. - -"No," said the patient; "never mind me face." - -"_I_ done that, ye see," remarked Mr. Tusker. - -"Yus," replied Mrs. Tusker, "'e done that." - -Doctor Brink, after staring hard at Mr. Tusker, resumed his inspection -of the wife. "I don't know what sort of appetite you expect to have," he -said, "with those four bruises. Her face is simply pul----" - -"Oh!" reflected Mr. Tusker, "them marks is out o' date. They put me -away for them." - -Mrs. Tusker nodded. - -"I--I don't quite understand," exclaimed the doctor. - -"I done 'em of a Saturday night, ye see," explained the husband. "And -they put me away to the Scrubs. Three weeks I was in." - -"Three weeks," repeated Mrs. Tusker. - -"They on'y let me out s'mornin'." - -This statement was audited and found correct by Mrs. Tusker. "On'y this -mornin'," she said. - -"This is the state I find 'er in," continued Mr. Tusker. "Orfer oats. -They put me away. See? And there wasn't no one to look arter 'er." - -"Nobody to look arter me," agreed the wife. - -"Her neck must be troubling her too," began the doctor. "I see she's -been rather badly sca----" - -"Never mind the scalding," protested Mr. Tusker. "Give 'er some physic, -Doctor." - -"Yus," echoed Mrs. Tusker. "Gimme some physic." - -"You see," explained the husband, evidently determined that this -important detail in the history of the case should not be overlooked, "I -bin away. They put me away for three weeks. And this is 'ow I find -'er. She ain't 'ad no one to look arter 'er. See? Give 'er some -physic, Doctor." - -So they had their physic, and they went away. - -I watched them passing up the road, Mr. Tusker limping behind his barrow -and this peculiar old sack of his limping behind Mr. Tusker. And Mr. -Tusker, as he limped, was declaiming a kind of poem--a rude sort of -piece; but I've no doubt that in the ears of the old sack-thing at his -heel, that which he uttered was as the music of the spheres. And the -words of his poem were these:-- - - Any old bottles? - Any old rags? - Old bones, - Rabbit-skins, - Waste paper, - To buy! - - -As they receded into the endless perspective of Bovingdon Street, the -sacks became confused in my sight, and I wondered which of them -contained the rags and bones and bottles, or which was occupied by -rabbit-skins and Mrs. Tusker.... Not that it really mattered. - - - - - *XIII* - - *ART LOVERS* - - -Mr. Clarence Gordon Prince appeared first in the capacity of a patient. -He came to have a tooth out. "Three teeth out, to tell ye the troof, -Doctor," he added, and with the air of a man who had given a liberal -order and knew it, he seated himself, throwing back his head and -shutting both eyes. - -"Want 'em all out now--at once?" demanded the doctor. - -"Cert'nly," responded Clarence. "I'm a gunner." - -Dr. Brink evidently perceived the point of this observation, for he made -no further speech, but drew the teeth forthwith. And Clarence kept on -smiling. - -He performed his subsequent ablutions in silence, but, having completed -them and deposited three sixpences upon the consulting-room table, he -again spoke. - -"Well, Doctor," he said, "I'll say good-night, and pop off," which he -did. - -But when he reached the door-step, Baffin found him, and Baffin rejoiced -in the find. "You've been a soldier?" exclaimed Baffin. - -"Gun-layer. 'Owitzer Battery, R.A. Nine year. Invalided." Clarence -smiled again. - -"I want you," said Baffin. "Wait there." - -Mr. Prince accordingly waited, and his patience was rewarded by the -reappearance of Baffin, with whom was Dr. Brink. "This gentleman," said -the doctor, "is an artist. He wants you to sit for him. How tall are -you?" - -"Six-one-and-a-'arf." - -"How much round the chest?" - -"Forty-two." - -"Round the arm?" - -"Twenty." - -"Got a shovel?" - -Mr. Prince's smile gave place to a suspicious frown. "I could _get_ -one," he said, at last. - -"Bring it along to-morrow," commanded the doctor. "We want you to sit. -You'll be well paid. You're out of work, I suppose?" - -"I'm out of work all right," responded Mr. Prince. "But--but ... what -you want me to do?" demanded Mr. Prince. - -"Never mind that," he was told. "Just come along. And wear your oldest -clothes. And bring the spade." - -To the surprise of both Baffin and the doctor, Clarence did come along, -accompanied by the spade. He was very out of work indeed, it seemed, -and had sold his medals to pay for the comfort of having his teeth out, -and for subsequent treatment at the "African Chief." He wanted work, -and was willing, but this yere sitting game--"what was it?" - -Baffin took him to the "studio," _née_ wash-house, and there he drank -some tea, and was confronted by an easel, and was induced to seat -himself upon the extreme corner of a small chair, whilst Baffin -pretended to sketch him. This proceeding is technically described as -putting your model at his ease. - -At the end of an hour the soldier was asked to stand up and drink beer -out of a jug, a function which he performed with very tolerable grace. -He was then allowed to go home. - -"But come here early to-morrow morning," said Baffin. "Do you think -you'll like the work?" - -"Work seems all right," responded Mr. Prince. "I'll come at nine -o'clock." - -He arrived at the time stated, having carefully attired himself in his -Sunday "blacks," and a white turn-down collar. He had likewise operated -with sand upon the metal parts of his shovel, so that that instrument -glittered exceedingly. Also, he had perfumed his hair. And Baffin -ordered him to go home again and reinvest himself with the habiliments -of toil. - -The spade we kept and improved upon in a corner of the doctor's little -garden--a corner in which rare bulbs were buried. Clarence returned to -us looking natural and dirty, and wearing a resigned expression. - -Then he sat, or rather stood, in earnest, whilst Baffin "studied" him in -pencil and charcoal and crayon, and in every other sort of pigment. - -And when the artist had tired of this employment, Mr. Prince came down -from his platform and studied the pictures with an air of cold reserve. -He said that he thought he might as well be going. And he went. - -The subsequent sittings were in all respects a repetition of the first. -But at the end of the week, a strange thing happened. Mr. Clarence -Gordon Prince permitted himself to give utterance to a remark. He had -been paid his first week's wages--a sovereign, and, having spat upon -this coin and donned his jacket, he tapped Mr. Baffin with his knuckle -and performed the feat in question. "One day--me lad," he said, "I'll -show ye _my_ pictures." - -And on the last day of his engagement he duly fulfilled the promise. He -had spat upon a sovereign and donned his jacket, just as before, and he -had walked towards the door, but half-way there he stopped and faced his -late employer. - -"Look here," he said, as he quietly divested himself of his jacket and -waistcoat, "look 'ere, ole man, you've acted very fair to me, and now -I'm gointer show ye my pictures." - -With this preface he removed his shirt. - -The wondering Baffin was then confronted with a naked chest--a chest of -many colours. "The Duchess of Gainsborough," said Mr. Prince. "There's -eight weeks' work in 'er. Done in Ceylon. I was soldiering in Ceylon. -If you look round the corner you will see a picture of Eve bein' tempted -by the serpent. On me right arm there's 'Erod's daughter, and on me -left a photo of Jim Sayers. 'Ow's all this for picture work? - -"I was under the needle for pretty near a twelve-month, and time I left -the service there was on'y one man in the battery as could show the 'arf -of what I can. I always 'ad a fancy for colour work." - -The model slowly resumed his clothes. "I love a well-done chest, I do," -he said. - -"Not, mind you, as I am one to turn 'is nose up at a picture on the -wall, same's you might make yesself. Not at all. But me own fancy is -for breast and arm work. That has always bin my fancy. - -"And I look upon you as a very fair and civil-spoken young man, which is -why I let you see me. I'm a bit particular 'oo I show my pictures to. -I'll be getting along now. Good-night, sir." - -On the threshold of the door he paused again. - -"One more thing, young man. I ain't the sort of bloke to show me chest -around; but you've treated me decent, man to man, as the saying goes. -And, therefore, if ever the fancy takes you to show me to your friends, -why say the word and--'ere I am. - -"I'll say good-night now." - - - - - *XIV* - - *THREE BABIES* - - -One of the disadvantages attaching to Dr. Brink's profession is its -stay-at-home character. A doctor has not time to travel. And it is a -well-known fact that travelling improves the mind. - -Think, for instance, how my doctor's mind would relish the improvement -associated with a short spell of travel on the London, Tilbury, and -Something Railroad! I travelled on this system only yesterday--it is -the direct route to Dr. Brink's--and I protest that one of my -fellow-travellers--a baby--was really _most_ improving. - -This baby came into our compartment head downwards, and advertised his -displeasure with this state of things by means at his command. - -A little pale-faced girl who followed Baby uttered remonstrances, which -were answered by the little rickety boy who carried him. I saw and heard -these things but vaguely, because our carriage was filled with noise and -smell, and its lights were dim. And many people had breathed within it, -and the gentlemen about me were smoking shag tobacco. - -The little pale-faced girl expressed herself with emphasis, coughing and -gasping between each adjective. There was a great deal of fringe upon -her forehead and a great deal of feather on her head, and some broken -teeth within her mouth. She dug at her companion with a bony elbow, as -they stood there, being supported in an upright attitude by means of -other people's knees and also by means of a rack provided for light -articles only. "You clumsy tyke, you!" shrilled the girl, by way of -concluding her address. - -"Hee-haw!" responded the youth, with satire. It was made evident by -certain signs, such as the cheerfulness of his conversation and a sort -of _négligé_ as to his fringe, that he had spent his evening amid -congenial surroundings. '"Old the kid yeself, then," he added. And his -companion took the child. - -"What you done with them suckers?" she then demanded; upon which the -young man brought forth bull's-eyes from his trouser pocket. With one -of these the little girl essayed to comfort Baby, holding the evil thing -between his toothless gums. But Baby continued, as before, to moan and -writhe.... "I fink that beetroot ain't agreein' wiv 'im," said the girl. - -The little rickety boy made no reply. He was busy, having a handful of -cigarette-ends to strip and bind anew with paper. "Why don't you stop -'is noise?" he at length demanded, applying his tongue to the completed -"fag." "Call yeself a mother?" - -The fact as to Baby's authorship I had, of course, suspected. I -perceived, however, that our fellow-passengers did not mind. - -The girl did not allow the young man's question to remain unanswered. -"Never trouble," she said, "what I call myself. What do you call yeself? -A man, I suppose. Funny sort of man, ain't you? More like a ape. More -like a crab. Fine 'usband for a person, ain't you? 'Usband, eh?" - -An elderly man at my right hand removed his pipe and grinned. The -gentleman opposite to him winked; and a woman in the corner giggled -rustily. You might have supposed them to be tickled by a sense of the -deeper irony which underlay this mother's sarcasm. But, as a matter of -fact, the reflections which moved them were not of this character. The -elderly man at my right explained his sentiments publicly. "Puts me in -mind," he said, "of my fust. 'E were jest sich a skinny one." - -And Rickets spoke again. "Why can't you stop the beggar's noise?" he -demanded. "Worse nor a waggon-load o' tomcats, that row is." - -"What," demanded the girl, "d'you expect me to do? Put a muzzle on 'im? -Why don't you take an' stop 'im yeself? 'Andy enough wiv yere tongue, -you are. S'pose you show us 'ow to do the business." - -"My way o' stoppin' 'im would be easy," said the boy, with a stupid -grin. "I should lay a strap acrost 'is back." - -His companion reapplied the elbow treatment. "You do!" she squeaked -between the digs. "You do, you little ape. Let me see you. On'y let -me see you. There'd be a strap 'crost your back blessed soon. Not 'arf, -there wouldn't. You baboon, you!" - -The girl looked helplessly at nothing, "hushing" the baby upon her -breast by means of sudden, horrible, little jerks. Such a pitiful -parody of rock-a-bye. She was too young and pale properly to know or -understand the business of mothering, which is a difficult business to -learn in your spare time, especially when they shut you out for a -"quarter" if you are two minutes late at the factory. So that this -London mother sucked at a bull's-eye, and yawned, and jerked, while the -London baby lay in her arms and moaned.... "I fink it is the beetroot," -reiterated the mother presently. "He looks so cold, Sam." - -"It's wind," pronounced the boy, bringing forth a mouth-organ and -carefully wiping it upon his sleeve. "Give 'im a tap, same's I told -you. 'Seaweed,' mates." With which announcement the husband and father -proceeded to wring out the melody of that name. We all tapped time with -our feet, and the mother sucked her bull's-eye, and the baby moaned. - -"He looks so cold," repeated the mother, as the mouth-organ subsided. -"Give us 'Cock o' the North,' Sam." - -Sam obeyed this summons with alacrity. - -"If you will pardon me, young woman," observed the elderly man at my -right hand, having duly applauded the soloist--"if you will pardon me, -young woman, I will take the liberty of recommending a cold key. It -catches the breath, if you take my meanin'. See?" - -"No; I don't see," responded the mother sharply. It resented the -preferment of counsel. This reflected upon its competence: this -offended its sense of dignity. It was a married woman. - -The husband readdressed himself to his mouth-organ. But as he put that -instrument of melody unto his lips, the girl reached sharply forth and -stayed him. - -"E--'e seems to be a-chokin', Sam," she said. "I think--I -b'lieve--I--what you grinnin' for, you ugly ape? When'll we get to Bow? -'Ow many stations? You old 'im, Sam: I b'lieve--I--he looks so cold. -He looks _so_ cold." - -"Give 'im another bull's-eye," suggested Sam. "There's peppermint in -bull's-eyes. Next station's Bow. What are you grizzlin' for?" - -"'E--'e looks so cold," explained the wife. There was a flame in her -eye. A new flame--a flame of fear and joy. It was as though a match -had been put to her soul. She was learning the business. - -The woman in the corner left off giggling. She spoke to the mother. -"You run along to bed with 'im, my gel. Never you mind about 'is looks. -Run along to bed with 'im, so's 'e can be warm." - -And the girl tightened her hold upon the parcels rack; and swayed her -body gently, like a real mother. The boy, her husband, drew forth a -series of discords from the mouth-organ. But she did not scream at him -as before. She stood there, dumbly, rocking her baby like a real -mother. - -And the baby did not moan. The baby lay there on her bosom, silent and -strangely still. - -Then, with a jerk, our train pulled up. And the girl let go of the -rack-rail and stumbled out. "Come on, Sam," she said, "we gotter 'urry. -'E looks so cold." - -"Wait till I light me fag, then," said the boy. He struck a match on -his boot-heel, and followed her, whistling cheerfully. - - * * * * * - -Our train moved on. And the elderly man at my right hand imparted a -secret to me. - -"That's their fust," he said. - -I nodded, patiently. - -"'E lay quiet enough when the music started. Did you notice?" - -"Yes," I said, "I noticed." - -"They're funny devils," said the man. - - - - - *XV* - - *INGRATES* - - -"DR. BRINK. Important. - -"DEAR DOCTOR,--Ther is a lady keeps on coming in a motor car, and her -names is Mrs. Dudenay-Jones, and she is always at our place, and we -think she 'as got a good intention, but my husband says he has had -enough, and he thinks if we was to speak to you then perhaps you was to -speak to her so perhaps she would stop it. She is a real lady, and -always civil and polite, but my husband says we've had ennough. His -mates has got to hear about it, and they call him Gordon Bennett, and he -is a hardworking man. - -"It is my daughter Kate she takes the interest in, the same what you -give the light-brown mixture to for loosing her appetite. She wants to -put her in a home at Margate, but my daughter has got a good home of her -own, and she do not want to be beholding. And if a person goes to -Margate you always bring back vermin, and there is enough work to keep a -decent home without anybody need go to Margate and bring back vermin. -And further and more, my Kate 'as got a bank book of her own, thank God, -and when she wants to take a fortnight she can do it independent, and -her young fellar the same, him what has the bottles of red from you for -spots on the face. - -"And so it is kindly to be hoped as you will kindly talk about it to the -lady, you being reguly engaged by us for all these year, and knowing -well that we are hardworking and independent, and not the kind as would -wish to be beholding. And she come 4 times a week from Sat., and now it -is only Tue., and she has been twice. It is no wonder as my daughter -loose her appetite. - - "And thanking with compts, - "Your faithl, - "SARAH BENNET, - 13, Markham Street, over against the Dairy. - -"P.S.--Boy got 6d. Please send a bot. light brown for my daughter. Did -my daughter ought to drink a wineglass full of vineger? They tell me it -is good. - -"The lady has always acted civil, so I hope you'll be the same. - -"S. BENNETT." - - * * * * * - -It was this missive, reaching the doctor at his breakfast table, which -caused a beautiful philanthropist to enter his surgery at tea-time. She -came in immediate response to the doctor's invitation; she came with a -rush, having been carried hither by her 80-h.p. 8-cylinder light touring -car. - -"And, oh, _dear_ Dr. Brink," she said, "how simply charming it is to -meet you! One has so often read your bright little speeches about this -shocking poverty. One simply yearns to do something. How one envies -you your strength, your power, your splendid opportunities. How you -must _revel_ in your work here, Doctor! It must be simply charming!" - -"About as charming," said the doctor, "as keeping pigs and sleeping with -them." - -The beautiful philanthropist broke into appreciative titters. "_Pigs_, -Doctor!" she cried, with the archest look. "_Pigs_! He! he! And you -call yourself a Socialist! Of course, I'm not a Socialist myself. -One's husband cannot be expected to approve of such extremes as that. -But one need not be a Socialist in order to feel sorry for them. Now, -need one, Doctor? But when one is a woman, it is all so difficult. Oh, -Doctor, can one do _nothing_?" - -"One _can_," replied the doctor; "but one won't. That, madame, is the -difficulty." - -"I don't quite understand you," said the lady. - -"You ask me," explained the doctor, "whether one can do nothing. I -reply that one can: that this is all we ask of one--to do nothing." - -"To do _nothing_? _D-o-c-t-o-r_!" - -"It does sound revolutionary, perhaps," admitted the doctor. "But it is -really true. We ask one to do _nothing_. We ask one to be so kind as to -sit at home and draw threads out of teacloths. And to draw cheques. But -not to leave one's blameless hearth. We ask one to keep away. The -pig-stye is a dirty pig-stye, and it's got to be cleaned by dirty -people. Nice people--manicured people---are best out of it. See?" - -"I see that you want to be rude," said the lady, "but I don't---- What -is it all about, Doctor?" - -"This," said Dr. Brink. And he gave her Mrs. Bennett's letter. And she -read it silently. And she stood up. - -"Really, Doctor," she observed, "one doesn't quite know what to say. -I'm sorry, I suppose. I will write and apologise to Mrs. Bennett. I'll -go home and draw threads. - -"Don't trouble to get up," she continued, as the doctor rose from his -chair. "Don't trouble to get up. You are quite the rudest man I've -ever met. Please don't trouble to get up." - -She reached the door, but paused upon its threshold and turned to him -again. "You are quite the rudest man I've ever met," she said again. -"Quite the rudest.... I'll send you some money for your pigs." - - - - - *XVI* - - *BAFFIN'S FIND* - - -Baffin came home one evening in a state of wild-eyed exaltation. - -He had found _the_ face for his "Mist Maiden." Its name was Prudence -Croft. - -It was coming to sit next day, and certain brothers of the brush were -coming also to inspect and criticise Prudence. - -Baffin's panegyrics quite interested me. I invited myself to join the -party and my invitation was accepted. - -So that I first saw Prudence under romantic circumstances. She was -sitting on a sugar-box with her bodice off. The combination of her -charms and a red flannel under-garment was startling to the eye. - -Prudence was occupied, it seemed, in a proceeding called "sitting for -the neck and shoulders." The process was not a restful one, for -Prudence had "nerves" and "fidgets" and a constant flow of anecdote. -Mr. Baffin made free with expressions of entreaty, disapprobation, and -despair. - -For myself, I sat and stared at Prudence, being consumed with a great -wonder. It wasn't the flannel which provoked this wonder. Red flannel -is a hideous material, and highly moral and depressing at that. And I -am sure that the spectacle of a poor, anæmic rat of an artist's model -seated in "half-costume" on a sugar-box is not (in itself) an attractive -one. But Prudence fascinated me as no human being had fascinated me for -many days. - -If any of you have felt the poignant, horrible appeal of Ophelia during -the "mad scene," you will know how I felt about Prudence. Her spare, -consumptive body was crowned by a neck and face and head as beautiful as -any that ever were. But it was a beauty that was monstrous in its -perfection, and that, therefore, hurt like some monstrosity of ugliness. - -Prudence's beauty was the beauty of imbecility--that which Rossetti -loved so much to draw. To look at her for long was like looking at some -exotic, over-nurtured lily in a hot-house: one felt sick and restless -and unmanned, and fell to longing for some robuster blossom on a -hedgerow. - -She had the genuine Rossetti neck--a thing which rose and swelled and -died away in exquisite, maddening curves. She had the genuine Rossetti -nose--straight, and small, and delicate, and sinful. She had hair, a -full arm's length, that crept and clung and strayed and floated like the -tendrils of a vine. She had wide, inscrutable eyes: wondering as a -child's, yet filled with an awful something that was not of childhood. -She had, above all else, a mouth which stung you with its -beauty--blood-red lips that were open and moist and eager, like a -lover's wound. - -To all these charms she added the mind and speech of a mud-lark: the -intelligence of a backward infant. - -"Ow, Mr. Baffin," she was saying when I saw her first, "ow, Mr. Baffin, -you _do_ frighten me when you swear so. I _will_ keep still: I will, -reely. I won't fidget or move or talk--I won't even breathe--for a 'ole -ten minnits. On'y I must tell you about me an' my sister an' the -penny-in-the-slot machine. Mother give us tuppence, see, 'cos it was -washin' day, an'---- ... Ow, now you're angry, Mr. Baffin. Down't be -angry, Mr. Baffin. I am a wicked girl, I know I am, an' I _will_ keep -still: an' Gawd knows what's to become of me when my mother dies, an' -everybody 'ates me, an' I _am_ un'eppy." - -The remainder of Prudence's observations were mingled with the sound of -noisy sobs. - -Mr. Baffin, that eminent painter, put down his palette and brush. "I'll -wait," he said, "until you are dry again." - -"Down't be engry with me, Mr. Baffin," moaned Prudence. "I'll be a good -gel now--I will, reely--if on'y yew wown't be engry with me." - -"Very well, then," answered Baffin. "You can begin to be a good girl -now. I 'm not angry with you _any_ more, and if only you keep still for -five little minutes while I get in the curves of the chin, I'll let you -talk and wriggle as much as you like for a whole ten minutes. Now hold -your head up." - -So Prudence ceased her lamentations, and held her head up--for -five-and-thirty seconds. At the end of that period an interesting -thought occurred to her. - -"It'll be Christmas in four months," she observed, wriggling -delightedly. "I'm gownter give my muvver something _sow_ nice fur -Christmas' I'm gownter give 'er a---- Ow, Mr. Baffin, you're angry with -me agen. I _am_ a bad gel, I know I am; but----" - -"You can leave off helping me for a minute or two," said Baffin quietly. -"I've got to do some scraping here, so you can have the wriggle now. -What is this about Christmas?" - -"I got two guineas comin' to _me_ fur Christmas--per'aps. I sat to Mr. -Baker fur 'is 'Birth of Wonder,' an' when 'e sells it 'e is gointer -gimme two guineas!" - -Baffin looked at me, and I nodded in appreciation of his glance. -Everybody knows, of course, that Mr. Wilberforce Baker, the eminent -Academician, disposed of his "Birth of Wonder" last June. It was his -tenth annual contribution to that remarkable collection of pictures now -being formed under a bequest of the late Mr. Bantry--Mr. Wilberforce -Baker himself being a trustee of the fund bequeathed for that purpose. -Baffin excommunicated that distinguished artist in dumb show. - -"I shouldn't count on the two guineas," was all he said to Prudence. -"... How long is it since you sat for Mr. Baker?" - -"Ow, _ever_ so lung!" answered Prudence. "Down't know why 'tis, I'm -sure, on'y I down't seem to be able to get now sittin's _now_'ow. They -all say I'm pretty an' that; an' they all rave about me neck: an' they -all tell me to call agen; but nothink ever comes of it. Can't make it -out at _all_, I can't?" - -"You are lacking in the quality of perception, my dear," explained -Baffin. - -"Beg your pardon?" queried Prudence. - -"I say," repeated Baffin, "that you are lacking--that you are damned -slow at seeing things!" - -"Ow, Mr. Baffin, you _are_ a naughty man. Fancy usin' such wicked words. -My mother says it is on'y bad people what uses words like that. My -mother cut 'er finger yesterday, makin' toast. We got the drains up in -_our_ 'ouse. Ugly things, them little kittens, ain't they? I 'ates 'em -when they're crawly, like those." - -Prudence, making a wry face, pointed to a basket beside the sugar-box. -This contained a family of illegitimate kittens which James had adopted -out of Christian charity. - -"I _'ate_ cats," continued Prudence in her childish, sing-song voice. -"I ate all animals. I like goin' to the theayter, though. I like goin' -to church too. I like----" - -She would have provided us, doubtless, with an exhaustive list of her -enthusiasms; but the door of the studio opened, and gave entrance to -those brothers of the brush whose coming was expected. - -They looked upon Prudence, and were staggered. - -"Where in Hell did you find her?" they inquired of Baffin, and -discharged a volley of most wonderful expletives in evidence of their -surprise and appreciation and envy. And they hanked her off the -sugar-box, and turned her this way and that way, inspecting her "form" -in much the same manner as that adopted by farmers when buying -horseflesh. - -"Chin up, please; more to the right. Now to the left. Ah! Get over -there, under that top light. Profile, please. Ah! How about shoulders: -salt-cellars, I expect; they always have. Pull that thing down. Ah! -Not so bad as I feared. No good for the figure, but--but that neck! -Trust old Baffin to find 'em, eh, John?" - -There was to me something inexplicably delightful in the utter -sexlessness of this admiration. To say the least, it was ungallant and -sane. And Prudence evidently shared this feeling. The childish vanity -in her eyes was unmistakable, and she walked back to her throne on the -sugar-box with a strut that real queens might have envied. - -Baffin tried to resume work on the picture; but Prudence's gifts of -anecdote were as yet unexhausted, and she found it necessary to tell -what Mr. Wilberforce Baker had said to Mr. Jerningham Jukes, and what -Mr. J. J. had said to Mr. W. B., and what she had said to both of them, -and what her mother had suffered under chloroform. And she giggled, and -she wriggled, and she apologised, and she wept, and she wriggled and she -giggled again. And Comrade of Brush No. 1 observed to Comrade of Brush -No. 2 that this sort of thing would not be good enough at any price. -Comrade No. 2 sniffed assentingly. "And what the blazes," he inquired, -"does she want to wear that beastly flannel for?" - -"Ah!" grunted No. 1. "I say, Baffin, why does she wear red flannel? -Makes chaps sick." - -Baffin referred the matter to headquarters. "What do you dress yourself -up like a sore throat for, Prudence?" he inquired. "Why do you wear red -flannel?" - -Prudence's eyes were wide with amazement. "Ow, Mr. Baffin," she -tittered, "yew _are_ a funny men! ... I got pretty things at 'owm. But -what's the good o' wearin' 'em out in the studios?" - -"You are lacking, my dear girl, in the quality of perception." Baffin -uttered these words with an oracular air. - -The Comrades made their adieux. "Not if she _paid_ me to paint her," -whispered No. 1, with a jerk of the head towards Prudence. "But, Lord, -_what_ a profile! A tricky man could work wonders with that head." - -"Pity she spoils herself," added Comrade No. 2. And they departed. - -"Hear what those gentlemen said?" demanded Baffin, as the door -closed.... "You are too talkative, and you giggle too much, and you -wriggle too much. And you should leave off red flannel, and make -yourself nice. You could make a lot of money if you took care of -yourself. Think of the nice things you could give your mother then!" - -"My mother's got a abscess," moaned Prudence, "an' I believe she'll die, -an' then I'll starve, 'cause I'm a good-for-nothin' gel, an' I wown't -sit still, an'--an' me figure's too flat. But I'm learnin' to croshy, -an' I _will_ be better. Shall I come termorrer, Mr. Baffin?" - -"Come on Friday," answered Baffin. "And," he added, "come in a nice, -unwrigglesome frame of mind. You shall have cream and tea and muffins -if you are a good girl." - -"Ooer!" cried Prudence. "I like muffins. And I like cream, and I like -claret... 'Ere"--her face suddenly grew grave, grave as a child's at -play with toys--"'ere, Mr. Baffin, do you believe in auctioneers?" - -"Do I believe in _what_?" shouted Baffin. - -"Auctioneers," repeated Prudence, with a pout. "Don't be angry with me; -I won't ask agen, if you don't like. - -"On'y ... what you want to look at me so queer for? I can't 'elp bein' -silly. I _am_ silly. On'y ... I wonder if a auctioneer is the sort of -man that anybody ought to trust?" - - - - - *XVII* - - *MR. WEST'S WIFE* - - -"Is this the young man?" said Mrs. West, of Mulberry Street, sitting up -in bed and shading a very white face with a very hot hand. "Oh, I -daresay 'e'll do! 'Tain't much, I'm told. No doubt 'e'll manage it." - -That task which Mrs. West, of Mulberry Street, thus coldly confided to -my management was the witnessing of her will. Dr. Brink had volunteered -to execute this document for her; and a sniggering youth had haled me -from the snugness of the doctor's waiting chariot to come upstairs and -sign. - -After my formal presentation to Mrs. West, there was an interval of -silence, broken only by the scratchy-scratchy of the doctor's pen, as he -hastily constructed a form of bequest. - -I employed this interval in taking stock of the testator's estate, the -whole of which was contained within her room. There were two bedsteads, -one (a little folding thing) being devoted to the uses of the sniggering -boy who, be it stated, figured in the document which was now being -prepared as sole legatee. The other bedstead--that on which the patient -lay--was obviously a veteran bedstead which had seen much of the world. -It was a circumstantial, ponderous bedstead, and wore still a pompous -air, although its ironwork was rusted and its lacquered parts had quite -lost their complexion. This bedstead also bore a superstructure -designed to carry a canopy; but all that hung there now were certain -moth-eaten petticoats. There was a chest of drawers among the assets, -and a cork model of the Tower of London, and a wash-basin and two soap -dishes, and two dumb clocks and the mechanism of another, and a work of -art designed in multi-coloured wools, and having reference to the -parable of the fig tree. - -"Make it all over to 'im," said Mrs. West; "all what I, the undersigned, -may die possessed of. I won't 'ave 'is stuck-up sister touch a stick of -it. 'E's bin a good boy to me, Bert 'as. It'll be a 'ome for 'im. - -"It's bin a near touch for me, what, Doctor?" pursued the testator. - -"Pooh!" murmured the doctor, still writing rapidly, "you're not going -this time." - -"I know that," said the woman. "Not as I take any notice what _you_ -say--you an' your soft soap. But I know in _meself_ as it's all right -this time. On'y you never know what's gointer 'appen with the next -attack, do you, now? And it'll be a 'ome for the boy. 'E's gettin' -good money at the dye works now. 'E'll be all right if 'e's got a 'ome. -You ain't puttin' it so's _she_ can touch a share, I 'ope, Doctor?" - -"Who's she?" - -"'Er what I spoke about--what calls 'erself my daughter. 'Er what's -married into the perlice. 'Er what's ashamed of 'er own father!" - -"I am putting it," explained the doctor, "so that you leave all of which -you may die possessed to your son Albert. It's quite definite. You may -sign now. This gentleman and myself will witness your signature." - -"Lift me up, then," said Mrs. West. - -She signed her name in a shaky but accomplished hand. "Be careful, -young man," she admonished me, when my turn arrived. - -All the formalities being concluded, Mrs. West sank back upon her pillow -with a grunt of contentment. "It'll be a 'ome for the boy," she said. -"And if 'is father _should_ turn up----" - -"Has he got a father, then?" questioned the doctor, rather, I think, -with the object of displaying an intelligent interest than from any -genuine curiosity. You _are_ apt to lose your genuine curiosity when -this sort of confidence is thrust upon you ten times daily. - -"Got a father!" echoed Mrs. West, with evident amazement at the doctor's -ignorance. "Ain't you 'eard, then?" - -"Heard what?" demanded Dr. Brink. - -"About my 'usband. The Midland Malt Comp'ny, you know!' - -"Well, really now," replied the doctor, looking painfully confused, -"upon my word, I _don't_ know." - -"You must go about your business in a very funny way, then," reflected -Mrs. West. "It's bin the talk o' Limus. 'E done 'em in for eight -'undred quid--'im an' another man." - -"Done 'em in!" repeated the doctor. "Who? What?" - -"The Midland Malt Company, same's I told you," expounded Mrs. West. "'E -was night watchman, Mr. West was--'im an' another man--an' they took -eight 'undred quid. 'E got away with 'arf of it, too. The perlice 'as -bin investigatin' ever since." - -Dr. Brink still looked a little puzzled. "You mean, in fact--do I -understand that your husband stole eight hundred pounds?" - -"Mr. West an' another man--yes," responded the woman, quite without -feeling. "'Im an' 'is mate, they done in eight 'undred. On'y 'is mate, -I'm sorry to say, 'e never got 'is share. The perlice got that. They -got 'im, too. But they never got Mr. West." - -"How did he escape?" demanded the doctor. And I held my breath. I -wondered that the desperado's wife could talk so quietly. "How did he -escape?" asked the doctor again. - -"Mr. West?" queried the woman. "Oh," she said, with great simplicity, -"'e went away. - -"It was like this yere," said Mr. West's wife:-- - -"I was asleep, you see--in this bed yere, an' it was dark--all in the -middle o' the night, you see. An' he struck a match an' he woke me up. - -"'What's that?' I says, with a start like, an' when I see it was Mr. -West I lay down again. - -"'Ann,' 'e says, 'wake up. I've got some money 'ere,' 'e says. An' 'e -lights a bit o' candle, an' I sits up, an' there on the table--that very -table--there was a 'eap o' sovereigns what 'e'd rolled out of a sack. -'I've took these from the company. I'm goin' away,' says Mr. West. - -"An' 'e gets into 'is Sunday shoot an' 'e shaves 'isself. An' 'e puts a -lot o' the money more'n four 'undred pounds--into a little brown bag, -an' 'e puts the rest in the coal cupboard. 'The perlice 'll come for -that in the mornin',' says Mr. West. 'Let 'em find it there. An' you,' -'e says, 'you don't know nothink.' - -"'An' what about you?' I says. - -"'I'm goin' away,' says Mr. West. 'I'll write you when it's safe. Give -my love to Rosa.' - -"Rosa is my sister's niece, what 'e'd always carried on with--innocent -like, in a jokin' sort o' way, if you understand me. - -"'An' remember,' says Mr. West to me again, 'as you don't know a thing. -They'll find the money in the coal 'ole, so don't you try to stop 'em.' - -"An' then Mr. West, 'e kissed me same as usual, an' 'e blowed out the -light. An' 'e went away." - - * * * * * - -"I suppose that the police turned up all right?" suggested Dr. Brink, -when he had duly considered this simple story. - -"The perlice," responded the woman, who had talked more than was good -for her, and now looked paler, if possible, than before--"the perlice -was very rude an' rough to me. They found the money in the coal -cupboard, an' they took it away. But that didn't satisfy them. It on'y -seemed to aggerivate them. An' night after night they come round 'ere, -an' they was very rough to me. But they ain't got 'old o' Mr. West. - -"'E's bin gone a year now, all but five weeks. An' they ain't caught -'im, an' they never will. I believe it would please that daughter o' -mine--the wicked, vain, unfeelin' thing--if they _was_ to catch 'm. - -"Mr. West, 'e 'aven't wrote me, nor I don't suppose 'e will. Mr. West -is a careful sort. I _did_ send round the other day to a place where I -thought there might be noos o' 'im; but there wasn't no noos o' 'im. - -"Not that I worry meself about _'im_, if you understand. Mr. West would -be all right, wherever it was. 'E's the sort that kin take care o' -'isself, 'e is. It's the boy--young Bert--I'm thinkin' of. Mr. West -would be very cut up, 'e would, to think as Bert should come to any -'arm." - -This reference to the nice paternal feeling of Mr. West affected us both -strangely. - -"But," continued Mrs. West, "I'm leavin' 'im the 'ome, at all events. -Bert can't come to no pertickler 'arm so long's 'e's got a home. - -"Mr. West 'isself was always a rare one for 'ome. The boy takes arter -'im." - - - - - *XVIII* - - *THREE DIALOGUES* - - -The Mission of the Healer is a fine and a noble one, and I have often -confided this original thought to my friend Doctor Brink, who declares -that such confidences are helpful to him. And I now desire to record, -without comment, three dialogues which drifted in to me at intervals one -Sunday, when I was sitting on the doctor's gas-stove. - - - I.--MORNING - -VISITOR: And 'e's ser fretful, Doctor, and 'is breathin's ser sick, and -'e don't appear to 'ave no appetite. - -DOCTOR: Bring him to the light here. I just want--ah! - -VISITOR: I give 'im a soothin' powder, too, last night--a large one. I -bought it at the chimmis. They're supposed to be very good, them -Parker's soothin' powders. - -DOCTOR: I'm afraid that this is rather serious. - -VISITOR: Down't you think they're very good, Doctor--them Parker's -soothin' powders? - -DOCTOR: I'm afraid there's not much doubt that this child has got -diphtheria. - -VISITOR: I bin very careful with 'im, Doctor. I give 'im a soothin' -powder. - -DOCTOR: Where do you live? - -VISITOR: Fourteen Mulberry Street. It's next to the oil shop. - -DOCTOR: How many rooms? - -VISITOR: Was you gointer send 'im away then, Doctor? Oh, down't send -'im away? - -DOCTOR: How many rooms? - -VISITOR: Down't send 'im away, Doctor! - -DOCTOR: I haven't said anything about sending him away--so far. Answer -my questions like a sensible woman. You want him to get better, don't -you? - -VISITOR: I down't want you to send 'im away. I kin look arter 'im -meself. There's on'y six of us, an' we got three rooms, an the other -two boys kin sleep with me mother in the kitchen? Down't send him away! - -DOCTOR: I'm very much afraid, Mrs.--ah--Mrs. Cooper, that it doesn't -quite rest with me whether the boy is taken away or not. He's got -diphtheria, that's certain, and I'm legally compelled to report the -case. It is for the Public Health people to decide whether they take -the boy or leave him. _I_ think you ought to be glad to let him go. -He'll be well looked after. - -VISITOR: Down't send 'im away! - -DOCTOR: But why not, Mrs. Cooper? You want him to get better, don't you. -You can't possibly nurse him yourself. You have the other children to -attend to, and the home to take care of, and your husband---- - -VISITOR: Yus, an' there's me 'usband, too. 'E won't let you take 'im. - -DOCTOR (_very patiently_): I've said before that I don't want to take -him. It is the health officers who will take him if he's taken at all. -My duty is done when I've reported the case. - -VISITOR: What you wanter tell 'em for? What you wanter put the little -chap away for? - -DOCTOR: I'm telling them because I shall be punished if I don't. But I -think it's very foolish and ungrateful of you to make this fuss. I only -want to do the best I can for you and your baby. You want him to get -better, don't you? - -VISITOR: Down't send 'im away! Let me send me 'usband round to talk to -you. Never mind about the punishment an' that, Doctor. My 'usband won't -tell nobody. I'd like you to talk to me 'usband, Doctor. - -DOCTOR: And I would rather like to talk to your husband. I can explain -things more clearly to him, perhaps. Send him round at once. - -VISITOR: Very likely it ain't the diftheria at all, Doctor. I'm sure me -'usband won't 'ave 'im took away. - - - II.--MIDDAY - -DOCTOR: And what can I do for _you_? - -VISITOR: I come round yere to talk about the boy Cooper. I'm 'is -father. The child ain't to be took away, see? 'E ain't got diftheria -at all. - -DOCTOR: I'm sorry to have to differ from your diagnosis, Mr. Cooper, but -the child _has_ got diphtheria. And I'm very much afraid that he's got -to be taken away. It doesn't rest with me; I merely have to report---- - -VISITOR: If you wanter know the troof, Doctor, we've called in Doctor -Popham. See? And Doctor Popham don't believe as the boy 'ave got -diftheria at all. And 'e's sent the boy some physic. And 'e's gointer -'ave another look at 'im termorrer. And we've took the case outer your -'ands, see? So you needn't trouble to send in no reports to nobody. -That child ain't bein' took away. You needn't trouble to interfere no -more. The boy is stoppin' 'ome, along of 'is lawful parents. See? - -DOCTOR: Did Doctor Popham examine the child's throat? - -VISITOR: What's that gotter do with you? The boy ain't got diftheria. -And 'e ain't gotter be moved. - -DOCTOR: It has got this much to do with me--that I _did_ examine the -child's throat. I'm not suggesting to you that I think he has -diphtheria; I'm telling you that he jolly well _has_ got it. I _know_. -When you go home you can see for yourself. Look in the little chap's -throat and you will see a round white patch about the size of a -sixpence. That, my friend, is diphtheria. - -VISITOR: The boy ain't gotter be moved. - -DOCTOR: That's not my business. Somebody else will decide about that. -But I don't suppose he'll let you murder the child, even if you are its -father. - -VISITOR: 'E's my child, ain't 'e? And 'e's in my 'ouse. Nobody ain't -gointer take my child away without I tells 'em to. See? - -DOCTOR: It isn't only this one child we have to consider. What about -your two other children? What about all the other children in the -house? - -VISITOR: Let other people look after their own, same's what I'm willing -to do fur _my_ own. A man's got a right to 'is own children and nobody -ain't gointer touch no child o' mine without I lets 'em. - -DOCTOR: You stand on your rights, do you? - -VISITOR: That's it. All the corpuscular 'ealth orficers in England -ain't gointer take my lawful child away from me. See? - -DOCTOR: I don't know whether it's ever been mentioned to you before, but -you are rather by way of being a Social Problem. - -VISITOR: It ain't your place to be saucy. I know me rights, and neither -you nor any man is going to tell me as it's right to rob a person of -their lawful child. And I don't want none of your sneers nor I don't -want none of your nicknames. You're out o' this job, see? I've called -in Dr. Popham. You and yere Latin nicknames! - -DOCTOR: I can put it into English if you like. You're a pudding-headed -fool. Good-day. - -VISITOR: What about my child? Are you gointer promise to leave 'im -alone? - -DOCTOR: Of course I am. You can kill your whole family for all I care. -I've sent in my report to the authorities, and there's an end of it. -Good-day. - -VISITOR: You've reported, 'ave ye? Oh, very well, then. We'll see. -That boy ain't gotter be shifted. See? - -DOCTOR: All right. Get out. - -VISITOR: We've called in Dr. Popham, and 'e's weighed _you_ up. See? -The boy ain't got diftheria at all. Nor 'e ain't gotter be shifted. - -DOCTOR (_in simpler terms_): May Heaven administer to your requirements. -Get out. - - - III.--EVENING - -VISITOR: If you please, Doctor, I come round ere about the boy Cooper. -I'm the father, sir. We want you to come round and see 'im. 'E's very -bad, sir. - -DOCTOR: Made rather fools of yourselves, haven't you? - -VISITOR: We ain't give 'im none o' Dr. Popham's medsun, sir; not a drop. -We want you to come round, Doctor. 'E's very bad. - -DOCTOR: All right. I'll be round in half an hour. - -VISITOR: Can't you come round at once, sir? 'E's very bad. 'E don't -seem able to swaller, sir, and there's lumps in 'is neck. And the man -from the 'ealth orfice ain't ser much as bin near us. - -DOCTOR: That's your fault. I told him you were going to make a fuss, -and I suppose he's busy and has put it off until to-morrow. - -VISITOR: Can't you make 'im come to-night, Doctor? The boy is very bad. -And one of the other boys is sneezin', and the other one 'e says there -is a funny feelin' in 'is thumb. Can't you come at once, Doctor? - -DOCTOR: Wait one minute, then, till I've written these prescriptions. - -VISITOR: Go' bless you, Doctor. We ain't ser much as looked at Dr. -Popham's physic. We ain't, straight. The boy is very bad. 'Is face 'as -gone a very funny colour. 'Ot this evenin', ain't it? Much obliged to -you, I'm sure, Doctor. Think you kin put it right? The boy _is_ bad. -It's a 'ot evenin'. What they playin' at in the 'ealth orfice, -Doctor--leavin' a man's child to die? - - - - - *XIX* - - *CURING THE CURER* - - -"Yes, Aunt Isobel," said James--"I quite agree with you. The silly old -duffer ought certainly to take an anti-something. He's as down-hearted -and high-tempered as possible." - -"Certainly," quoth Aunt Isobel--a thin and very definite lady, with a -wire-woven manner--"_something_ ought to be done. Your father is looking -very unwell. I attribute his condition to overwork and -undernourishment." - -"Nourishment's all right, Aunt Isobel," protested James. "He eats -enough to fill an ox." - -Aunt Isobel winced and raised an arresting forearm, as if to ward off -some physical menace. "You really do employ the most trying phrases, my -dear," she said. "Personally, I am a stronger believer in Anti-Nervo. -Two tablets, three times a day--one before each meal, and one after. It -is really a quite remarkable remedy. Poverty of blood is one of a great -number of complaints for which the makers themselves especially -recommend it. Poverty of blood is, of course, your father's chief -trouble. He is much under-nourished." - -"You ought to see him walk into a steak," said James. - -"If," pursued Aunt Isobel, "he really does receive a proper quantity of -food, then I'm inclined to fear that it is food of poor quality. If, -indeed, both the quality _and_ quantity of his food should prove to be -adequate, I can only suppose that he is suffering from insufficient -sleep. Or is it brain fag? It _might_, of course, be liver or weak -heart. Or some secret trouble, perhaps. Anti-Nervo is strongly -recommended for all these complaints. He must certainly be made to take -some Anti-Nervo." - -"He must certainly be made to do something violent," admitted James. -"He's certainly got hold of a most phenomenal hump." - -Aunt Isobel was again forced to push off imaginary assailants. "Where -_did_ you learn, my dear," she inquired, in a poignant sort of tone, "to -use such fearfully emancipated expressions? Another remedy in which I -have the greatest possible faith is Sal-Toxine. Do you know Sal-Toxine? -But, of course, you don't; it is quite a novel remedy. I myself have -only--why, here is your dear father." - -And here, indeed, that gentleman was; wearing the gloomiest possible -air, and a very dirty collar. He blundered heavily through the door, -and cast himself heavily upon a chair. Having disembarrassed himself of -a hat and a stethoscope, he delivered an original and entertaining -monologue. - -"May my bones burn in hell," he said, "if I conduct this profitable -enterprise for another damned minute. I've got the largest and dirtiest -and sickest collection of common drunks in London. I've got all the -Phthisics from here to Limehouse. Every pre-ordained son of a witch of -a bricklayer within hail of the parish has broken his bandy leg, and -called me in to set it. Every single woman that ever worked in a jam -factory is 'expecting' to-morrow, and there isn't a pint of milk or a -handful of coal between six of 'em. I haven't slept a wink since -yesterday morning, or sat down since last night. I haven't had a wash -since Monday, or a drink since last April. I'm fed up." - -This speech was listened to by James with polite attention, but perfect -calm. Aunt Isobel, upon the other hand, was unable to suppress a -loudish shudder. - -"Hullo!" cried Dr. Brink, with evident surprise. "Here's Isobel. How -are you, Isobel? Hear you've changed parsons again. What a rabid young -flirt you are." - -"We have been discussing the subject of your deplorable poverty of -health," responded the flirt. "We have decided that you must be made to -take a tonic--Anti-Nervo, say, or Sal-Toxine. We have the very greatest -faith in them, especially Anti-Nervo. You take two tablets, three times -daily: one before and one after each meal." - -"Can't I have one in my bath, as well?" asked Doctor Brink. - -"The directions," responded Aunt Isobel, "are very explicit. Two -tablets three times daily--one before and one after each meal. It is a -wonderful remedy. My own doctor at Chiswick--a _really_ clever man--is -perfectly charmed with it. He has analysed it several times. He has -the most perfectly refined voice that I have ever met with in a man. -_He_ takes his profession quite seriously. He is an M.B. of Edinburgh, -and a surgeon as well, and they say he is quite the youngest man who has -ever attempted the two things at once. He plays the banjo most -delightfully." - -"Good at cracking nuts, too, isn't he?" suggested the doctor in a tired -voice. - -"Of course," continued Aunt Isobel, "we don't want to insist upon -Anti-Nervo if there is any other genuine tonic in which you have more -faith. I know many extremely intelligent people who simply swear by -Sal-Toxine; and then, of course, there is Pherantidote. I have heard -that Our Queen uses that. What is your opinion of Pherantidote?" - -"Well," responded Doctor Brink, "it's a dam small bottle for -one-and-eight. Do you really think I'm seedy, Isobel?" - -"We are both agreed that you require----" - -"What I require, old girl," said Doctor Brink, rising slowly to his -feet, "is a job in the City. I want to try a new system of -exploitation. My game's too deadly simple: I'm tired of pumping aniline -dye and water into hungry bellies for a thousand a year. I'm tired of -the filthy working-man--tired of seeing him so close. He smells of -beer, and his hands are so cold. His eyes are awful, and they give me -nightmares.... I want to kill the cad more profitably. I want to start -a trouser-button works, or some chutney mills, or something. I can't -stand it any longer--this deadly boredom: this watching the dumb beast -die." - -"Well," said Aunt Isobel, "I can seriously recommend you to pin your -faith to Anti-Nervo. You take two tablets three times daily." - - - - - *XX* - - *MILK* - - -I have long been interested in Mr. Binney. He is the only milkman I have -ever seen who looks any different from other milkmen. His very voice is -different; for, whereas other milkmen are sudden and shrill of -utterance, Mr. Binney has cultivated a profounder, more scholarly -method, and he has a voice of deep bass quality. - -I have sat at an upper window of the Bovingdon Street dispensary and -watched this tradesman closely when he has been conducting milkcans to -the houses opposite. I have observed his slow, deliberate tread, so -thoroughly in keeping with the fulness of his girth and stature. I have -noted his extensive face, so plain and wise and red. I have remarked -his drooping eyelid and crimson neck, his scant white locks, and row -upon row of chins--features insignificant in themselves, but, when -combined, imparting to his countenance a strangely judicial character. - -This effect of power (such is the individuality of the man) receives -additional strength even from the trivial business of his calling. Mr. -Binney, when handing a milkcan through some parlour window, looks less -like a milkman than any other imaginable human thing. He handles the -pewter vessel gingerly, daintily, as if it were a precious casket, and a -sort of trembling eagerness is sometimes to be observed in his -demeanour. - -There is nothing commercial in Mr. Binney's manner. - -He does not seem to sell his milk. He bestows it. - -To see him gingerly proffering his battered cans is to see, as it were, -an earthly Providence--a conscious benefactor, distributing Nature's -bounty to her helpless children. - -He accepts the copper tokens which reward his ministrations with an air -of gracious calm as far removed from any taint of barter as are his -actions. You might suppose him to be a priest receiving offertory. - -The same spirit of gentleness distinguishes his method of proclamation. -Mr. Binney does not use the cry of "Milk-ho!" which his fellow-milkmen -favour. I have already stated that the tone of his voice is deeper and -more profound than that which they employ. Pushing his little handcart -before him, he causes his utterance to correspond with his gait--which -is majestic. - -"Milk! milk! _milk!_" he exclaims--or, rather, utters--in a tone which -is at once appealing and authoritative. - -Mr. Binney so interested me that I reported him to the doctor. "What is -the mystery of this unusual milkman?" I said. But the doctor only -smiled. - -A day or two afterwards, however, when I was seated in anxious -expectancy at the upper window, Doctor Brink came up and brought me my -answer. "Waiting for your milkman?" he said.... "Ha! I've just been -sent for to him. Come round with me now and see him in his little -home.... I shall want some help." - -As we walked along, the doctor carried his explanation a little further. -"We shall have to take his clothes off," he observed. "If once we can -get him undressed he's fixed for a week, because he cannot hold things -steady, and he's fat, and his trousers are tight, and--oh, here we are." - -A perfectly quiet and collected old lady received us on the doorstep. -"He's cut 'isself this time," she announced; "fell agin the railings by -the church. But he's very jolly and 'igh-sperited, Doctor, and I'm sure -the sewing won't be any trouble to you. Is this your assistant?" - -The doctor nodded. "Where is he?" he demanded. - -"In 'is own old armchair," replied the woman. "Per'aps you'll get 'is -clothes off, Doctor. It's on'y the trousers that matter. They'll puzzle -'im till Sunday _this_ time, they will." - -We found Mr. Binney in the situation reported. He received us with -cheers and a poetic outburst. - - "Dr. Brink, - Full of chink, - I _don't_ think"-- - -he exclaimed; adding a personal couplet-- - - "I'm old Binney, - Not so damned skinny." - - -"Doctor," he continued, "'ave a drink?" Upon the doctor declining this -offer, Mr. Binney chuckled loudly and extended--or tried to extend--an -arm. "Feel me pulse, old buck," he shouted. "Let's see if you know -yere business. If ye can feel old Binney's pulse I'll give you 'arf a -dollar, 'cause I'll be damned if ole Binney kin feel it 'isself." - -"Loss of feeling, eh?" said the doctor, in his suavest tone. "Ha! -you'll feel _this_ all right." With which words he inserted a surgical -needle in Mr. Binney's cheek. - -"Oy!" cried Mr. Binney, "keep orf the grarse!" - -But the doctor continued to ply his busy thread, and Mr. Binney, being -temporarily incapable of performing any but the most elementary -movements, was constrained to endure this treatment. When the doctor -had completed it--Mr. Binney having several times admonished him to -"keep orf the grarse!"--and we had removed that garment which exerted -such a powerful influence upon the question of Mr. Binney's freedom, -that gentleman once more expressed himself in verse, saying-- - - "Doctor Brink, - Tip 'im the wink, - Give 'im a drink, - I don't think. - Put 'im in clink, - Tiddely-wink, - Tiddely-wink, - Give 'im a drink. - Give 'im a---- - -Good-bye, old pal, an' come agin termorrer." - -We went again upon the morrow, and Binney expressed himself as being -glad to see us. - -"I dunno 'oo your soft-lookin' friend may be," said Mr. Binney, "but I -know 'oo you are, Doctor, an' you done me a power o' good, an' I'm -grateful to you. Gettin' on fine, I am." - -"That's _right_," exclaimed the doctor, looking as if he believed it. -"Keeping off the drink, of course, as I advised you?" - -"Keepin' orf tadpoles!" cried Mr. Binney, with disdain. "I've 'ad five -brandies auready this mornin', an' not you, nor the ole woman, nor the -King 'isself would stop me. I know the cure for _my_ complaint." - -The next morning Dr. Brink paid his third and last visit to this -patient. The patient willed it so, having reconstructed the frame of -his mind. - -"Look 'ere, me man," said Mr. Binney upon this occasion, "I'm grateful -for what you done for me, and so on. See? But I've 'ad enough of you. -See? I'm very much obliged to you, and all that; but I don't want you. -I'm better now. I'm all right now. _I_ don't want no blinkin' doctors. -See what I mean? You're a clever fellow, no doubt, and I quite agree, -and you 'ave my thanks. But you can 'op it. See?" - -Dr. Brink accordingly hopped it. But that his treatment had not been -wholly useless was testified by Mrs. Binney, who, when calling in that -evening for some more dark brown, announced, with a sigh of -satisfaction, that "'is trembles" was as bad as ever. "It'll be another -week 'fore ever 'e can put them trousers on," she cried triumphantly. - -That was a week ago. This very day has witnessed Mr. Binney's return to -public life--properly habited and full of dignity. - -I have been watching him, as, with his finest and most benevolent air, -he bestowed a can of wholesome, grass-fed nourishment upon one of the -numerous Barnstein children, who live opposite. - -His hands, I thought, showed signs of more than usual eagerness as he -hooked a trembling finger round the handle of the can. There was an -expression as of reverence upon his face, and he yielded the liquid into -Miss Barnstein's keeping with a hesitancy, as of one loth to part from -his treasure. - -His lips moved, and I could almost have believed that he had breathed a -blessing--a Latin blessing. Then I heard him speak--in deep, impressive -tones he spake. - -"Be careful with it, missy," he said. "If you spill some, what'll -mother say? Now do be careful!" - -With that he returned to his little hand-cart and pushed it slowly up -the road, walking with a measured gait and uttering, in rich and -reverent tones, his exhortation:-- - -"Milk! Milk! _Milk!_" - - - - - *XXI* - - *TWO PATIENTS* - - -My friend, Mrs. Isadore Muntz, has been very ill, poor girl. - -She is always rather ill, of course; there would not otherwise be much -point in being married to so rich and elderly a man as Isadore. But the -illness which I now have to record was a real one--a horrid one. It -involved the use of a surgeon's knife. It involved the complete -collapse of Isadore, whose world-famous bill-brokery was carried on -without the stimulus of his presence for nearly fourteen days. - -For more than seven days of that period, it is said, he kept to his -chamber, and cried without ceasing. And he admitted, between his sobs, -to my aunt Elizabeth, that Sir Marmaduke Wilkins's fee for the operation -had amounted to a hundred guineas, besides an additional charge of -twenty guineas for the anæsthetist. - -But Mrs. Isadore--Constance she used to let me call her--is getting -slowly better. Because she used to let me call her Constance and -because--because I am sorry for her, I went to the "At Home," which was -held at West Hampstead, in order--I suppose--to celebrate the result of -Sir Marmaduke Wilkins's efforts. - -Less than eight weeks having elapsed since the occasion of Sir -Marmaduke's skilful treatment, she was still forbidden to be very -active. So she lay on a sofa, embowered with blossoms, and we rustled -up and cried over her. Isadore, the faithful creature, stood fast by -her right hand. This was perhaps responsible for Constance's notable -depression. - -It is also possible that she thought of all those low-necked gowns -hanging useless on their pegs upstairs. - -"You don't mean to say _you've_ come!" Constance exclaimed when I took -her hand; "I thought you hated Hampstead." - -"And so I do," replied the tactful guest. "But I heard a funny story -yesterday, and----" - -"That's all right," she said. "I'm sick of funny stories. Tell me -something tragic. Haven't you fallen in love lately?" - -"Yes," I said, "and I've bought another dog." - -"Tell me about the dog," she said. - -So I described the dog for nearly twenty minutes, much to the enragement -of many mourners, who were waiting for an audience. When the laws of -decency compelled me to retreat, she was so kind as to ask me to convey -a form of greeting to the new dog. - -"I will come and see him one day," she said. "But they won't let me -move for weeks yet, and when they do I've got to go to Bournemouth and -be wheeled about in a bath-chair. Isn't it horrid?" - -"It is," I admitted, and I turned away to meet the cod-fish eye and -collected expression of Sir Marmaduke Wilkins, M.R.C.S. That scientist -was eating an ice with relish. - - * * * * * - -You may wonder what connection I trace between this episode and the life -of Bovingdon Street. There is a connection; but it traced itself. I -left the Muntz's stately mansion feeling in need of distraction, and -that distraction I sought from Doctor Brink and James. And James was -full of news. - -"I've begun my professional education," she said. "I administered -chloroform to a case last week. Fee sixpence. Fatty still owes it me." - -I turned to Fatty for his explanations. - -"Pity me," said that gentleman, "I have a hussy for a daughter. One who -makes sport of her poor old father's need. I do owe her the money. I -shall continue to owe it. I am entitled to owe it. I only got -half-a-crown for the whole thing--anæsthetist's fee included. - -"Men like Marmaduke Wilkins get a hundred guineas for the same -operation. And then the patient has to pay another ten or twenty for -the anæsthetist. When a high-class, if modest surgeon, like myself, -consents to perform these things for a wage which would offend the -dignity of a dustman, why, damme, it is his _duty_ to swindle the -anæsthetist. Why----" - -"What was your patient?" I asked. - -"The patient? Oh, a girl in Mulberry Street. Works at the pickle -factory. Pretty girl, only eighteen. James cried. Rather -unprofessional, what? Now she has the cheek to ask for sixpence!" - -"What was--er--the result of your high-class surgery? Is the girl -alive?" - -"Alive! Why, my insulting young friend, she's back again at the pickle -works. Went to work on the sixth day. _My_ girls don't die." - -"At work again in six days--after--after _that_! And you let her!" - -"Better work than starve," said the doctor brusquely.... "How did you -enjoy yourself at Hampstead this afternoon?" - - - - - *XXII* - - *LOST!* - - -It isn't often that Dr. Brink permits himself to have emotions during -business hours, but even the doctor looked astonished when O'Flannigan -came into his consulting-room. We called him O'Flannigan, because he did -not leave a visiting-card, and we had to call him _something_. And he -spoke with a trace of the Irish accent. He was a very tall man and very -stout, having dead-white hair, which he wore in curls, and a very red -face. His clothes were all of them black, and they shone in places with -a sort of oily lustre. He wore black gloves and a black tie, and he -carried a black umbrella. - -"Evenin', Doctorrr," said he; "ut's a fine place ye got hearrr!" - -The doctor bowed. - -"Ut is a fine place," repeated the visitor, tapping the oilcloth with -his umbrella point; "but, begad, 'tis a mericle how you kin do ut. -Privut inkum purrhaps?" - -"Why, yes," acknowledged Dr. Brink, "my income is certainly a private -matter." - -"The divil ut is!" commented the visitor. "Me own's so damned privut -Oi've lost sight of ut this ten yeers past. Midwifery connection is -good, Oi onderstand. Ut's a sound, domestic practus, Doctorrr?" - -The doctor nodded. Wonder had made him speechless. - -"That's good now," ejaculated the visitor, holding tight to the -mantelpiece as he fished with his umbrella for a chair. "Give me a -sound domestic practus. It's these damned Alcoholics and so forth which -Oi deprecate, Doctorrr. They're no use to a man. They nevorrr pay up, -they nevorrr git bettorrr, and, be jabers, they nevorrr damned well die. -Ye put the takuns at three hunderrrd, Doctorrr? Begad, 'tis a poor -inkum. Faith, Oi've known a man do bettorrr cuttin' corns. 'Tis a cash -trade, is ut not, Doctorrr?" - -"It is," said Dr. Brink. "What can I do for you?" - -"Do for me?" echoed the visitor. "Whoi, if tis a drink yure profferin' -me, Doctorrr, Oi will name the ush'll. Three hunderrrd, eh? Begad, -'tis a paltry inkum--a damned dirrrty, snivelling sneakin' wasp-waisted -inkum for a gentleman to live upon. But 'tis a cash trade, to be shure, -and there's no anxiety, to be shure. If they die, why, dammit, they -die. You take yure thruppence and they take their chance. A veterinary -trade, in fact, Doctorrr. Do ye walk yure rounds, Doctorrr?" - -"Cab 'em," snapped out Dr. Brink. - -The visitor held on to the mantelpiece with both hands. "Holy -Motherrr!" he cried. "A cab is ut, ye say? On three hunderrrd? And Oi -been surgeon-majorrr in th' Army! Whoi, begad, Doctorrr, I have known -the toimes when half a dozen of us in th' Eightieth could drink yure cab -away at a sittin'. Cab did Oi say? Be the grace of Heaven, there was -gentlemen with us would dispose of a pair-horse brougham in the same -period. Cab? To the divil with cabs. Oi must stump ut. Stump ut on me -ten old toes. Meself, moind ye--a retired surgeon-majorrr of her late -Majesty's Army. And me over sixty, Doctorrr! It is thus that Britain -treats her warriors. Begad, they've even stole me pension from me. -When do Oi take overr, Doctorrr?" - -"Take over what?" - -"Why, dammit, man," began the visitor, but his flush of anger suddenly -died down. A look of bewilderment took its place. "Will ye pardon me, -Doctorrr," said the visitor slowly, in a voice which sounded husky. -"But tell me am Oi roight in assuming that I was privileged to meet ye -hearrr lost noight?" - -The doctor shook his head. - -"Then," cried the visitor, moved this time by an evidently powerful -emotion, "then tell me, man, for God's sake, tell me, is this not the -practus I bought from ye last noight?" - -"You certainly haven't bought _this_ practice," responded Dr. Brink. -"It isn't for sale." - -"Begad," mused the visitor, slowly rubbing his chin, "begad, Oi might -have known as much. It is a fine place ye have hearrr. Ye wouldn't be -for sellin' ut. Not be any means. 'Tis a fine place and a fine -practus. Indeed you would be foolish to part with ut, Doctorrr. At any -rate, for the sum Oi paid ye yesterday. But, begad, Oi never paid ut -ye. Indeed I didn't. Was I so drunk then? Oi doubt ut. - -"Hearrr am Oi, an honest, Christian man, a professor of the healun art, -the noblest art which---- Begad, Oi _know_ Oi paid ut ye. And be -jabers, hearrr's--hearrr's the front-door key--yure front-door key--his, -Oi should say, Doctorrr, which he gave me when Oi, when Oi---- - -"For the love of Hiven, Doctorrr, tell me--tell me truly, Doctorrr, -where in Satan's name is the dirty little practus which I bought and -paid for yesterday?" - - - - - *XXIII* - - *THE SURVIVOR* - - -Everybody must still remember the sensational explosion at Stoat's -cordite factory in Limehouse. It was quite the talk of last year's -gooseberry season. I may remind you that one departmental manager, one -bookkeeper, one lady typist, and eighteen hands were utterly and -instantaneously atomised; that the managing director himself sustained a -shock; and that more than seventy operatives had to be removed in -ambulances at the company's expense. - -It will be remembered that very High Personages sent telegrams of -sympathy. A sum of money was publicly subscribed for the relief and -burial of the sufferers. The great heart of England was touched, though -it did not leave off beating. - -But those whose recollection of that horrible, soul-thrilling -catastrophe is as keen as mine will remember that, viewed from the broad -and enlightened standpoint of news-value, its most important feature was -Mr. John Boyle. This honest artisan went up with the gentleman -book-keeper and the lady typist and the hands. But unlike them he came -down unbroken and almost unhurt, being so fortunate as to alight upon a -providential mound of cotton-waste. - -Few people will need to be reminded how this clever action was rewarded. -A special (_D---- M----_) collection, amounting to nearly £300, was -raised in three weeks and presented to Mr. Boyle in recognition of his -courage and ingenuity. Pictures of Mr. Boyle in all varieties of dress, -attitude, and employment were published in the journals. I have an -especially vivid recollection of one picture, appearing in a Sunday -newspaper. The photographer had caught the noteworthy features of Mr. -Boyle at a particularly happy moment; and with consummate art he had -represented our hero as emerging from a bad fog with a patch on his -chest. This study bore the following inscription: "John Boyle at Home: -He nurses the baby." - -The next stage in Mr. Boyle's development, or (to state it more -correctly) in the development of the public attitude towards Mr. Boyle, -was his engagement to appear at the Shoreditch Hippodrome in a dramatic -entertainment called "The Man Who was Blown Up." - -But by the time he had reached this altitude of greatness the fame of -Mr. Boyle was already well established; his name had become familiar to -the national ear. For months before the day of Mr. Boyle's historic -decision to blend his destiny with that of the national drama it had -been a common thing to hear men say to other men: "'Ullo, Charlie; been -'avin' one with Boyle?" - -This oft-repeated sally, which never failed to provoke laughter, was -popularly supposed to embody a charge of alcoholic excess. - -In these days, when Mr. Boyle as "The Man Who was Blown Up" has enjoyed -three hundred consecutive nights of fame, it is regarded as a silly -thing to joke about him. He is now a solemn National fact. - -But it was my own particular good fortune to meet Mr. Boyle at a period -when the hand of Fame had barely touched him. I made his acquaintance -within twenty-four hours after the tremendous moment which had so -exalted Mr. Boyle and his fortunes. - -Mr. Boyle, having been detained for a brief period at a local infirmary, -was anointed with surgical balm and dismissed; when he immediately came -round to the sixpenny surgery of Dr. Brink, demanding a certificate of -injuries which should enable him to extract some monetary compensation -from the coffers of Stoat's Cordite Works, Limited. Mr. Boyle was not -then prognostic of the public rewards which awaited him. - -Mr. Boyle having stated his business, the doctor became excited and -summoned me to leave the hiding-place and join him openly in the -consulting-room. - -"This chap," he explained, "is John Boyle, who was blown up with other -employed objects at the cordite works, and who is still alive. If you -are a real journalist you will get 'copy' out of him." - -I took Mr. Boyle by the hand and I said to him-- - -"You have had an awful experience, old chap. My God, you have lived -through an awful thing." - -Mr. Boyle said: "I believe you, guv'nor. Now this is a funny thing, -ain't it. I was 'it on the leg by somethink; and whatever it was, it -went right through me trouser but never 'urt the sock. Funny thing, -that, ain't it?" - -"Quite extraordinary," I admitted. "All the other poor chaps in your -shop are dead, aren't they?" - -"Twelve chaps and four females; all dead," admitted Mr. Boyle. "Funny -thing, wasn't it? Right through me trouser and never touched the sock!" - -"Eighty injured from the other shops!" I reflected. "What did you -think--how did you feel, when--when you realised it all?" - -"I never thought much abaht it," responded Mr. Boyle. "Me leg was -'urtin'." - -"It isn't a matter one need encourage him to think about," suggested the -doctor. - -"I can't 'elp thinking about one thing, though," interpolated Mr. Boyle. -"Such a funny thing: Right through----" - -"It must have been an awful moment," I hazarded, "when you came to your -senses and looked about and saw the--the awfulness of it. What did you -do?" - -"I don't remember, not clearly," responded Mr. Boyle.... "I know I -laughed. It seemed so queer for anything to rip right through a -person's trouser-leg and not go near 'is sock." - - - - - *XXIV* - - *MORE OF PRUDENCE* - - -Prudence and midday post arrived together at Baffin's washhouse on the -day appointed for her second stance. - -"Oo-er, Mr. Baffin," was her greeting: "_I_ got your letters. Gimme the -stamps, wown't you? Me an' my friend we allus c'lect stamps. We ain't -gointer stop till we got ten thousand, and then we're gointer make a -bonfire when my mother's out. 'Ere, an' I ain't bin 'avin' _'arf_ a -lark with your postman, Mr. Baffin. Oo, an' the conductor on the bus -what I come by, 'e wasn't 'arf drunk, I tell you. I was frightened, I -was, 'cos my father useder git drunk, an' once 'e bit my mother. 'E -_was_ a bad man, my father, an' they made 'im go out an' be a soldier in -Egypt, an' 'e got the fever in 'is 'ead, an' we got a picture of 'im at -'ome before 'e was buried, an' you ought to see the funny black man -a-settin' alongside of 'im. 'Ere, I'm all in a knot at the back, Mr. -Baffin: arst your friend to undo me. An' don't you foget to keep them -stamps, an' I spoge it's the chin agen, an' I 'ope you've remembered the -muffins!" - -"Yes," responded Baffin, "I remembered to get the muffins, and I've also -remembered to get an empty flour-sack. Know what that's for?" - -Prudence shook her head--gravely, wonderingly. - -"To smother up tiresome girls in that _will_ wriggle and _will_ talk," -explained Baffin. - -"He! he!" giggled Prudence. "Wown't tie up _me_, I know. 'Cos if you -was to do that you couldn't paint me. See?" She gurgled with triumph. - -"And now," said Baffin, "it is time to leave off playing. Sit up, like -a good girl, and keep quiet. Get rid of that bull's-eye." - -"Yes," said Prudence. And the lollipop was "got rid of" of by a simple -and effective means. "I _should_ laugh if someone was to tread on it," -observed Prudence. "If my mother was to see---- Oo-er, Mr. Baffin, -down't 'oller at me, please, Mr. Baffin. I _will_ be good, I will; -on'y, if you look like that I shall cry, 'Cos you frighten me." - -Silence reigned for a little space, whilst Prudence, with clenched -hands, maintained an attitude of strenuous repose. Baffin's actions -alternated between brief and seemingly motiveless dabs at his canvas, -and a critical inspection of his model, for the purposes of which he -spread out his legs and wagged his head--slowly and pensively, from side -to side--like an elderly cockerel surveying the domestic landscape. -This proceeding terminated in a sigh that had all the eloquence of a -shout, and Baffin pounced, as it were, upon his canvas. - -Prudence selected this moment in which to throw up both her hands, and -wail with sorrow. "Ooh," she moaned, "ooh, I am a bad gel, I am. Ooh, -what will my mother say when I go 'ome? She give me a letter to powst, -she did, an' I never powsted it, an' it's a letter for our landlord, it -is, an' I promised faithful to put it into the first box I come to. An' -now I've fogot it, I 'ave, an' my mother 'll be cross. An' I love my -mother, I do, an' she's got a bad place on her arm, an' I am a bad, -wicked gel to tease an' trouble 'er, I am. Oo-er, I must get up and go -out, Mr. Baffin. I must, 'cause I fogot to powst my mother's letter." - -Baffin did the philosophic thing: put away his canvas, and put on the -kettle, and invited his sitter to unsit and rejoice. That young person -responded to this invitation by sitting wonderfully silent--strangely -still--for ten minutes. It was only at the very end of this unique -performance that we perceived her to be shedding tears. Real tears, -this time. - -It was possible in that moment to realise that Prudence had passed her -twenty-second year. Baffin touched her shoulder, and she shrank from -him and shuddered. She spoke, and her voice was the voice of a woman. -"Lemme alone: lemme alone. You donnow what a un'eppy gel I am. -You--you----" - -It finished in a gurgle. - -Then, with the laudable motive of clearing the air, Baffin referred in a -tone of banter to the still visible presence of red flannel. The -success of his experiment amazed us both. All in a moment the whims and -capers of infancy possessed her again, and she succumbed to an ecstasy -of wriggles. - -"Ooh, 'ere, 'ere, Mr. Baffin; 'ere, I say, what do you think some man -'as done? Some man 'as sent me a--a something: a underneath something, -all white. Yes, reely!" - -"An' my mother says it didn't 'arf cost somethink, neether. But ain't -'e got a cheek to do it? 'Cos it ain't right for a man to send presents -like that to a gel when she's grown up: 'cos my mother says it's takin' -a liberty. Whoever sent me it, 'e must 'a' been a artist because of the -tasty yoke. My mother says as I'm a grown-up gel now, an' I got to be -very pertickler. - -"Oo, it is pretty, though, I tell you: pink ribbon on the shoulders, an' -my mother says 'ooever 'e is 'e oughter be ashamed of 'isself, an' all -my gel cousins from Catford are comin' on Sunday to 'ave a look, an' -when I find out 'oo it is, my mother says I can tell 'im what I think of -'im." - -Stimulated and cheered by the thought of this exciting prospect, -Prudence fell upon the muffins. Her appetite, at any rate, was -thoroughly grown up, and, having performed a veritable gastronomic feat, -she curled herself up on the musty old curtain which carpeted Baffin's -"throne" and--went to sleep. - -Whereupon, the unauthorised kittens--they crawled everywhere--you found -them in the milk jug--promptly employed the skirts of Prudence as a -playground. - -"Move those kittens away, like a good chap," Baffin called out to me. -"They'll worry Prudence when she wakes up. Hates the silly beggars, you -know." - -But to our surprise, when Prudence did wake up, she stretched forth a -foot, and began to tease the plumpest of them with the point of her -shoe. - -"Funny objec's, ain't they, when they're fat and soft, like this?" said -Prudence. "Breakable, ain't they? No strength in their legs. On'y fit -to lie on their backs an' be tickled." - -And Prudence stooped down, and lifted the plump one into her lap. - -"Ooh, my! 'is little pores ain't 'arf soft!" She spoke in the woman's -voice that we had heard but once before. "'Is little pores ain't 'arf -soft; you could bite 'em." - -She kissed a paw. - -"Ain't 'e got a funny morsel of a nose. Sich a cheeky nose; such a teeny -one. You could bite it. You--you----" - -She lifted the absurd little animal to her face, and rubbed her cheek -against his cosy side, and she kissed his impertinent nose. - -"Oo's a precious, then!" continued Prudence. "Oo's a sleepy precious. -My, 'e's a sleepy little 'elpless little lump of fat! Ain't you, boy? -What price a see-saw, fat boy?" - -She held him so that he hung by his shoulders in an attitude that was -not suggestive of dignity. And she dandled and bounced him in a manner -with which kittens are not familiar. She lifted him to her face again, -and made as if to kiss the nose once more. - -But the lips, half bunched for that purpose, parted suddenly, as if with -pain--as if with wonder--as if with horror. The kitten slipped from her -fingers, and fell with an indignant mew into the soft, warm haven of her -lap. And Prudence's hands went up to her startled face, and her hair -fell over her like a shroud, and she sobbed as women sob. - -"Oh, Gawd!" she cried; "its eyes, its eyes! Its little, winkin' eyes! -Oh, mother, _mother_!" - - - - - *XXV* - - *A TALK WITH JAMES* - - -I had extinguished the flame of the doctor's gas-stove, and was warming -myself on the lid, when James burst in and interrupted me. - -"Come off it, like a dear, and listen," said James. "I've had a -proposal!" - -I wondered, for a moment, whether this flippant manner of stating a -serious fact did not call for some form of fatherly rebuke. But all that -I actually said was: "Well, I hope you think you've started soon -enough." - -"Started!" echoed James, regarding me with an air as of dignified -amazement. "My dear young man, I _started_ years ago. Why, Baffin was -my third; and Baffin began to woo me before I was eleven." - -"How long ago was that?" I meekly inquired. - -"Don't you be rude," said James. "I take a grown-up size in almost -everything. If Baffin perseveres, I suppose I shall really have to -accept him--if it's only to make him leave off wearing those New Art -ties. But, really and truly, I'd rather not be married at all. I don't -believe I've got a married mind. I'm much too fond of rats." - -"But," I ventured to point out, "people have been known to combine the -two interests." - -"Not successfully," asserted James. "Rats require a fearful lot of -attention. Another thing about Baffin is his hands. I really -_couldn't_ be married to them." - -"Why 'another' thing?" I inquired. "You haven't stated any firstly." - -"I daresay my grammar isn't quite correct, but I haven't noticed that -yours is perfect," rejoined James. "And, anyhow, my ideas are sound -even if my grammar is weak. Of course, one could _train_ him to take -care of his nails; but with rats you have more to show for your trouble. -He really was most touching." - -"Baffin has a fine vein of sentiment," I admitted. - -"Why Baffin?" demanded James. "I was talking about Mr. Grimsdick." - -"Pardon me," I said. "You think so rapidly, and my hands are cold. Who -is Mr. Grimsdick?" - -"The one I was telling you about," explained James. "He's our grocer." - -"But you never were telling me about him," I protested. "He is quite a -new character." - -"Nonsense," cried James. "Why, the very first thing I said to you was -that Mr. Grimsdick had proposed to me. At least, I take it as a -proposal. He held my hand and----" - -"Excuse me," I ventured to observe, "but do you think it quite correct -in the daughter of a respected family physician that she should go about -the country holding hands with grocers? Now had it been----" - -James cut short my speech with characteristic impatience. "Mr. -Grimsdick," she said, "has been holding my hand for years." - -"Does he sell lard?" I inquired. - -"He is a very religious man, and when his wife died, when I was about -seven, he used to give me raisins and pat my head to comfort himself. -And this afternoon, when he gave me my change, he held my hand and he -said, 'R! Miss, I expect we shall soon see you round yere shopping on -your own account. How time do fly, to be shaw. You'll be having your -hair up soon. And yet it don't seem no time since the days when you -used to sit on the cheese barrels and swing your little legs and heat my -raisins. 'E'll be a lucky young fellar whoever 'e is. They'll 'ave to -'urry up, miss, some of 'em--what? I on'y wish I was a young man--_I'd_ -give some of 'em a lead.' - -"So I said, 'Never mind, Mr. Grimsdick. I shall always come to you for -my soap and tea.' - -"And he laughed. And he said, 'R! We shan't see much of you round 'ere, -I reckon, miss. You'll be marrying into the aristocracy and goin' to -live at Herne Bay or Clacton.' - -"So then I gave him Fatty's well-known speech about the Idle Rich. - -"And he said, 'Oh! If that's your way of thinkin' there's a chance for -all of us. Well, miss, there's a empty chair in my parlour and a seat -be'ind the cash desk.' _I_ call that a proposal." - -"A most definite and unequivocal proposal," I agreed. "What did you say -next?" - -"Oh," said James, "there was nothing else of importance. We got off on -to the subject of Carlsbad plums: they were beauties, but too dear. He -wouldn't reduce them." - -"Pooh!" I cried. "And he calls himself a lover!" - -"_All_ men aren't like Baffin and other people, thank goodness," said -James disdainfully. "Mr. Grimsdick thinks about the future. But I'd -rather go in for rats, I think. There's Baffin, for instance: he never -shuts a door after him." - -"Rats don't either," I submitted. - -"But cats don't open them," argued James, not without logic. "And then -there's always having to be at home on the second Tuesday. Really, I -can't decide about my future at all. Most girls haven't any -difficulties, because they can make up their minds to be nurses and -relieve the sufferings of the poor. But I've been brought up to that -sort of thing, and it bores me. Of course, you can always get an -opium-eater, or drunkard, or something, and devote your life to -reforming him. But then, again, they always smell of it. Really, it's -very hard. And Baffin's so irritable. Look at the way men fuss over -trifles. And if you get one who is clean and not fussy, and not a -grocer, and decently young, he is sure to be ugly and a bore." - -I said, "You are referring now, I suppose, to Boag, the Conative -Meliorist?" - -"No," replied James. "Mr. Boag is a bore, but he isn't downright ugly. -As a matter of fact, I was thinking of _you_." - -"Oh!" I said. - -"Yes," said James. "I know you like one to be frank. Apart from -everything else, men make me sick. It will really have to be rats." - - - - - *XXVI* - - *THE APRIL BARGE* - - -I set out, sedately enough, one April morning, to rescue James from her -aunt at Bayswater. I set out grandly enthroned upon a 'bus. - -But I came quite unexpectedly upon this April Barge, and James and her -aunt were forgotten. - -The April sun had come out sharp to time, you see, and was winking -fitfully upon all of us, like the unsettled, rakish fellow that he is. -And a girl with two great baskets full of wondering daffodils had come -out, too; and some conscienceless vagabond was extracting melody from a -cornet. So that even the Regent's Canal, with its sombre vicinage and -sulky craft, seemed, as if by some surprising effort, to have taken on -an air of sweetness and youth and hope. - -You could consider this fact at leisure as our 'bus toiled slowly up the -rise of a road which spans the canal. There was a public-house in front -of us--the public-house and the cornet seem to be inseparably united in -this neighbourhood--but the canal was to one's left, and appeared, -somehow, to convey that air of refreshment which the tavern so -conspicuously lacked. - -As one looked down upon the face of these waters, so strangely heartened -by the sunlight, a sort of certainty grew upon him that they would break -suddenly into perspective; that their vista would cease to be obscured -by coal wharves and cranes and hoardings; that somebody's whisky, -commended to your notice in large white letters on a blue-enamelled -background, would fade and fade and fade, until it merged with the white -clouds and the blue sky behind it. Then need you but sigh and sit back, -beholding a silver streak set snugly between hills, and flowing, -flowing, flowing to the edge of the world. Instead of which---- - -Pooh! There was no instead. The April sun kept winking at the -daffodils, and the daffodils kept staring at the sun, and the cornet-man -made music by the waterside. So that even a poet might have smiled at it -all. For here, I'll swear, was none of your mere "waterways," created -by syndicates for profit; here was none of your world capitals. Just a -little old river, sunning itself gratefully in a little old town that -God had made. - -And, as if to strengthen this conceit, a woman came up through the -hatchway of a barge that I was looking at. She was wearing a -sun-bonnet, in accordance with the custom of barge-women, and she stood -up gracefully, one hand on her hip, the other before her eyes, to seek -out the cornet player. - - We are the boys of the bulldawg breed - What's made ole Hengland's Nime. - -Those were the words which had inspired the melody which the -cornet-blower was blowing. The woman tapped her foot in time with the -notes. - -Her husband came up then, accompanied by tobacco clouds and a baby. He -seemed to be a fortunate sort of husband, for I noticed that the woman -laughed appreciatively at some joke which he made. - -Then the man's eye wandered to the canal-side, and he caught sight of -the daffodil-girl, who was standing there. And what must the fellow do -but throw kisses to her, which gallantry was reciprocated by the -flower-girl. The barge-woman laughed at this new jest with even more -good humour (if that were possible) than that which she had shown -before. The man shouted some message or other to the flower-girl, and -she replied, whereupon he handed the baby to his wife, saying, "Catch -'old, Fatty!"--an utterance which I heard without hearing, as one can -when an April sun is shining on men's hearts. And, advancing to the -side of the boat, the man held out his arms, and the girl threw -daffodils towards him. - -The first bloom fell into the water, and the second; the third he -caught. One more poor daffodil was drowned, and he caught the two next. -So that there was one for his cap, and one for the missus, and one for -the baby, who, being now safely delivered from the paternal arms (which -were not built for cradling babies), needed but the additional stimulus -of a yellow thing to marvel at ere it smiled as largely as any of them. - -And upon my word I smiled, too, and could, indeed, have laughed -outright. But I sat in awe of a fat man on the adjacent seat. He did -not belong to that order of lunatics who laugh for nothing in the -sunshine. "What we want," he was saying to his companion, "what we -want," he said, with his eyes fixed tight upon this April barge, "what -we want is a total _change of Government_. Nothin' won't ever be right -again till we get it." - -I had a heavy parcel of books on my knee, and to drop them heavily upon -his foot had been, as it were, the accident of a moment. But the sweet -temperance of springtime had stolen into my blood, and I forbore. -Besides which there were the barges and the daffodils, and they were -better worth a man's consideration than this fool. - -So I looked over the side again, and saw that the barge-man had turned -his attention to the cornet-blower, with whom he was exchanging highly -flavoured sarcasms. With a view, probably, of adding zest to his -humours, and because a springtime madness was upon him, he had changed -headgear with his wife, and stood there in her sun-bonnet, grimacing and -laughing. He had a long barge-pole in his hand, and somehow--I don't -quite know how it happened--in assuming to hurl that weapon at the -cornet-blower, he overbalanced himself, and fell sideways into the -water, striking his head as he fell against the side of another barge, -which was moored close to his own in that jumble fashion which is -peculiar to barges. - -He came up again almost directly, looking queer in his wife's sun-bonnet -(for he had tied the tapes beneath his chin), and then immediately sank -again. The nerveless ineptitude of it all made one angry with the man: -it seemed to be wilful. - -As for the wife, she looked wonderingly over the side, and realisation -came to her so slowly that a laugh still flickered faintly on her face -when he came up again. Even then, the sound which she uttered was as -much like a chuckle as a cry. And when words came to her, they were few -enough. "Oh, my pore man!" she moaned. "Oh, my pore man! Oh, my pore -man!" - -And the baby lay on its back, and chuckled knowingly into the petals of -a dishevelled daffodil. - -Our 'bus had made the bend of the canal bank by this time, and now was -parallel with the water, and exactly opposite to this barge. Under the -united stimulus of instinctive curiosity and instinctive horror, the -driver pulled up sharp; and so the 'bus stood still, and we passengers -sat there, gaping at that funny thing in the sun-bonnet as it came up -for a second time and sank again. - -"Oh, my pore man! Oh, my pore man!" moaned the wife. - -And the cornet-blower, pale with horror, still applied himself -automatically to the cornet. He had changed his tune since first I -heard him, and the aquatic feats of the man in the sun-bonnet were -conducted to music, the strains of which, being interpreted into words, -ran as follows-- - - Hi! Hi! clear the road - For the rowdy, dowdy boys. - - -It came up again for the third time, and the woman on the barge grabbed -frantically at nothing, and tore her arm in the effort, so that a -crimson splash mingled with the eddying waters as he sank again. - -And then the cornet-blower remembered himself, and dropped his cornet -hastily, as though it burned him. And, of all queer things for a -cornet-blower to do, he blubbered weakly, like a woman found out. - -And the mischievous sun cast his shadow upon the water, and caused it to -dance joyously thereon, so that you would have deemed it to be the -shadow of one consumed with joy. - -"Oh, my pore man!" cried the wife. "Oh, my pore man! Oh, my pore man!" - -And the fat person from the next seat said to his friend, "I saw it -comin'. The giddy fool was larkin' about like a ape." And, in the -meantime, the giddy fool did not come up again. - -Suddenly the flower-girl spoke. "My Gawd!" she screamed, struggling -feverishly to disentangle herself from her shawl and the straps of her -basket and her fringe; "my Gawd! where's all the blarsted men got to? -What's 'appened to you? For Christ's sake find a _man_, you fools!" - -The 'bus emptied itself, and men ran into each other along the roadway, -and somebody ran for a policeman. So that there was a great deal of -noise and bustle shorewards. But at the same time certain male persons -of a much more silent and effective character made their appearance upon -the barges adjacent to the April barge. They did not shout, and they -did not run about much. They fetched poles and produced ropes, and one -of their number climbed into the water at the end of one; and presently, -after much probing and searching and jerking (and not a little -swearing), they brought him up at the end of a barge-pole, with a slime -concealing all of him except the sun-bonnet, which had slipped upon one -side, and looked more comical than ever. - -"Oh, my pore man!" cried the barge-woman, who by now was surrounded by a -stimulating coterie of other barge-women. - -"_E's_ done for!" said my fat neighbour, and spat contentedly. - -And the baby snatched at its mother's head, which was still covered with -her husband's hat, from which a single daffodil was dangling. - -In the meantime, they laid him down upon the deck of a barge, and relays -of men, acting under the direction of a policeman, jerked at his arms, -and pulled his legs, and pummelled his chest. But, as the fat man had -said, _he_ was done for, and these exhausting efforts only made the baby -laugh. So they lifted him hurriedly, with a change of manner, as -befitted a changed burden, and conveyed him to the shore, where he was -placed upon an ambulance and deported. - -The fat man formed himself into an impromptu committee of inspection. -He returned to his friend (and my side) after a lengthy dalliance by the -ambulance, and spoke as one well pleased. - -"Crack in 'is 'ead as long as my 'and. 'Orrible! Never noted afore that -blood 'ad such a salty smell to it. Quite sickly, ain't it? To think -of it, poor fool! ... And on a day like this, too!" - -And he took off his hat and sunned himself. "I'm for a drink arter all -that," he added; and, his companion agreeing with him, he walked over to -the tavern, in company with many other of the 'bus passengers, and the -driver and conductor of that vehicle, and most of the barge-men. - -They took the cornet-blower with them, and somebody collected a store of -coppers in that musician's interest, with which he was presented upon -the understanding that he should "bite off a yard o' somethink lively" -to cheer the mourning host withal. - -So while the woman on the barge was being carried below deck by her -sympathisers; whilst faint gurgles issued from the daffodil-girl, -standing over her baskets by the water-side; whilst the sun winked down -upon all of us--the cornet-blower threw out his chest with an air -something at variance with the muddy tears upon his cheek, and blared -out a song of mourning. - - Leave off tickerlin', leave off tickerlin', - Leave off tickerlin', Jock! - -sang the mourners; and the jolly young sun must have winked itself into -a headache. - -By the time our 'bus went on again every note of tragedy save one had -departed from the scene. That solitary note was supplied by the -daffodil-girl, who stood by her garden dabbing disconsolately at her -nose and eyes with an apron-end. - -Nought was stirring on the April barge, save one plump little figure, -which squatted all by itself in the centre of the deck. They had -forgotten the baby in this coil. But the baby was quite happy--happier -than any of them. For it sat there, eating its father's cap, and -smiling amiably at the sunshine, as who should know that there is a -benign and beautiful purpose in everything, even unto the falling of a -sparrow. - -The daffodils upon the waterside, pressing each other close within their -baskets, stared up into the heavens more wonderingly than ever. - - - - - *XXVII* - - *THE CASE OF MRS. ROPER* - - -"Beg pardon, young fellar," said Mrs. Roper, "but ain't you the young -fellar from the doctor's?" - -Mrs. Roper is a sullen-eyed lady with very many chins. She is, _vide_ -her shop sign, a dealer in antiques, and, to quote the same authority, -old metal, old teeth, old glass and china, and every variety of new and -second-hand wearing apparel are bought and sold by her. She is not the -cleanest woman in London, nor is her shop the cleanest in Bovingdon -Street. But there is charm in the variety and abundance of Mrs. Roper's -assets, which are the working parts, as it were, of our complex -civilisation, amongst which tokens Mrs. Roper is always sitting, -silently, mournfully, by day and night, like a lonely widow on a coral -reef, surrounded by mementoes of a shipwreck. - -I hastened to reply with civility to Mrs. Roper's question, for that -lady had just sold to me for ninepence an ancient brass tobacco jar, -which expert opinion has since valued at half a guinea. - -"Then," said Mrs. Roper, "I will thank you to send the doctor round -'ere. Tell 'im that the stuff what 'e calls medicine is makin' me -worse." - -"Madam," said I, thinking rather of my benefactress than of my friend, -"the doctor is outside now. Shall I----?" - -"I thought I seed the shadder of 'is 'at," said Mrs. Roper; "call 'im -in." - -I called the doctor, as directed, and he came in with a brisk and -cheerful air, kicking me brutally upon the shin in passing. I then, -very naturally, prepared to retire; but Mrs. Roper held me back. - -"_You_ needn't run away, young man," she said. "I ain't ashamed for -anybody to 'ear _my sufferings_.... Doctor, what's to be done about me? -I'm very ill." - -"Where?" said Dr. Brink, a little brusquely. - -"It's a funny question for a doctor to ask," responded Mrs. Roper. "I -thought we paid you to find things out. But we do not want to waste -each other's time, and so I'll tell you. - -"What's the matter with me is that I'm dying. That yellow medicine what -you sent me 'as brought the pains on worse than ever. You will 'ave to -try me with some red. Not that I look to that or any other doctor's -stuff to cure me now. Nothing can't cure me now. I've been neglected -too long. The on'y thing I got to look forward to now is me little -wooden ulster. It'll be a great pleasure to some people, I know, the -day the undertaker comes to measure me for it. What are you laughin' -at?" - -"I wasn't laughing," protested the doctor. "I was yawning." - -"Then what are you yawning at?" - -"Up all night," explained the doctor. - -"Ah!" quoth Mrs. Roper mysteriously, "I see, _you're_ one of the jolly -sort.... What you gointer do about me?" - -The doctor equivocated. "Where's your husband?" he said. - -Mrs. Roper closed both eyes and shook her head. "Wherever the man may -be," she responded, "you may be sure as it ain't be the bedside of 'is -dying wife. '_E's_ one of your jolly sort, likewise. 'E's one o' them -good-tempered, popular fellars, 'e is. _'E_ don't want no medicine." - -"I was not proposing to give him any medicine," explained the doctor. -"I would like to talk to him concerning the painful state of--ah--health -in which--ah--you find yourself. When will he be in?" - -"Ain't you got some more riddles you would like to ask a person?" -responded Mrs. Roper, with a bitter laugh. "How in gracious do _I_ know -when the man will be in? 'E's one of these _pleasant_ men, I tell you. -The sort as is always ready with a laugh or a joke or a funny remark. -'E ain't got time, bless you, to trouble 'is jolly self about no wives. -'E's one of your 'appy men--the sort that makes friends, and so on. 'E -would rather be out with 'is friends, 'e would, listenin' to their -flattery, than sit at 'ome 'ere with 'is lawful wife and 'ear the -_truth_ about 'isself. 'E's a plain man, too, and stammers 'orrible." - -"I think," suggested Dr. Brink, "that I shall have to call again when he -is in, and talk things over with him. I can see," added my excellent -and ambiguous friend, "that what you want is more attention." - -"What I want," retorted Mrs. Roper, "is me wooden ulster. The sooner -the better. Attention won't save me now--even if I could get it. I'm -gone too far. And what is the use of a 'usband's idea of attention? If -you want to see the kind of attention 'e gives me, just cast your eye on -the table there. Them things in the corner is supposed to be lemons. -'_E_ sent them in. _Look at 'em_! 'E on'y sent 'em 'cause I asked 'im, -mind you. Is it much to ask, d'ye think, Doctor? And me at death's -door! Look at 'em, I say. They're furrin lemons." - -There was a pause. Then said Mrs. Roper again, "They're furrin lemons. -I would say it to 'is face. I ask 'im on me death-bed for lemons and 'e -sends me them! Furrin ones! Don't you think they're furrin, Doctor?" - -"I'm sure of it," replied the doctor. - -There was another pause, during which Mrs. Roper applied a variety of -new and second-hand wearing apparel to her eyes. But the gift of -articulation soon returned to her. - -"I," she explained, with biting irony, "am on'y 'is wife. _I_ ain't -jolly. _I_ don't flatter 'im. _I_ don't make a fuss of 'im. _I_ don't -make meself agreeable. _I'm_ on'y 'is wife. _I_ on'y tell 'im the -truth. What does 'e wanter give good lemons to _me_ for?" - -"If you could let me know when he returns," submitted Dr. Brink, "I -would talk these matters over with him. In the meantime, I will send -you round some medicine, which----" - -"What's the good of medicine to _me_?" demanded Mrs. Roper. "I'm on'y -'is wife. You go round to the undertaker's, Doctor, and tell 'im to send -me round a wooden ulster. That's the on'y thing as'll bring _me_ any -peace. I ain't one of your jolly sort, you see. _I_ don't go round to -me cousin Alfered's and make meself agreeable and play nap. 'Is cousin -Alfered's, indeed! It isn't 'is cousin Alfered as 'e goes to visit, -Doctor; you take my word for _that_, Doctor; I s'pose I'm blind, eh, -Doctor? An' deaf an' dumb an' parulised? I s'pose I ain't aware that -cousin Alfered 'as got a wife? _A wife_! That's what 'e calls 'er! If -she's a honest married woman, Doctor, 'ow d'you account for 'er bein' -ser very lovin' to 'er 'usband?" - -"I have left off trying to account for these things," explained the -doctor. "About your medicine now. I want you----" - -But Mrs. Roper had struck a more fascinating theme than that of -medicine. "Married!" she ejaculated. "Ha! Married! And she ser jolly! -Ser good-tempered, ser fussy, ser full o' compliments! No wonder as my -man likes to play nap at 'is cousin Alfered's. There's two or three -jolly ones together in _that_ 'ouse. - -"She's a 'igh-spirited lady too. Ser full of romps an' all. She reads -the papers, too, and listens to their jokes, _and laughs_. - -"Well, well, Doctor, it's time that wooden ulster come. It won't arrive -before I'm ready for it. This world ain't no fit place for me. - -"I ain't jolly enough. - -"I'm only a honest wife, I am, what sits at 'ome all day an' tells the -truth while other people makes theirselves ser popular. This world is -no fit place for honest wives. - -"The other ladies are ser jolly; they makes theirselves ser pleasant. -They fuss about and flatter you, and laugh at all your jokes. They -makes theirselves ser pleasant.... - -"What's a respectable married woman to do, Doctor?" - - - - - *XXVIII* - - *THE BLACK HAT* - - -"What I like Banking Day for," James had privately informed me, "is -because _then_ Fatty always puts on a cap. He looks so plain and -friendly in a cap." - -At which I pondered deeply. - -That which I pondered was the important problem of Dr. Brink in his -relationship to moral authority and the top-hat. - -I had to admit to myself that James's aphorism was justified by facts. -The doctor did look more human in a cap. Upon the other hand, he did -not in the least look like himself. - -"Banking Day" is a solemn occasion in the Brink household. It happens -once a fortnight. It affords the doctor an excuse for making holiday--a -two hours holiday--the only regular holiday in which he permits himself -to indulge. And of this regular and recurrent festival, the cap is an -outward and visible sign: the cap and golfing shoes and a poacher's -jacket. And a solemn black bag. The solemn black bag is filled with -sixpenny pieces. Thus equipped, the doctor goes into the -City--"giving'em a treat in Gracechurch Street," he calls it--and -deposits the toll which he has extracted from human misery upon some -banker's table. He then returns to Bovingdon Street, wearing your right -usurer's leer and a shilling cigar. And having in his right hand--the -hand he pulls the teeth out with--a fat, white book. It is his vulgar -custom, upon such occasions, to publish loudly a statement of accounts, -as thus-- - -"Forty-eight pounds fourteen and sixpence. Do you hear that, my friend? -Do _you_ hear it, Baffin? One thousand nine hundred and forty-nine -sixpences. Does this compete with literature, young man? Does it equal -the material gains of your art, Mr. Baffin? Nineteen hundred sixpences, -James, my dear, nineteen hundred and forty-nine. All screwed out of -the working man. Damn the working man. What's he made for? Where's -that bottle of Burgundy?" - -The doctor, in this mood, presents an absurdly human appearance. His -cap---it is an old-fashioned neck-freezer, and a trifle small for him at -that--sits usually upon one side, and he rolls the cigar between his -lips in an unctuous manner, and has even been known to wear his feet -upon the mantel-piece. It is always his pleasure under these -circumstances to toy with Baffin, who, being so closely related to the -Leicestershire Baffins, is quite unjustly credited with a secret -sympathy for despotism. In point of fact, however, Baffin has no time -to sympathise with anything, except the Baffin School of Impressionist -Art. But the doctor, when his cap and the cares beneath it sit lightly -on him, chooses to exhibit a cordial sympathy for the supposed -convictions of Baffin. - -"Dirty beggars, these working men: what, Baffin?" the doctor will -observe. "Have to be kept in their places. Eh? What? Sixpence a go, -Baffin. Nineteen hundred and forty-nine sixpences. A very reasonable -tribute, Baffin; a tribute to education and elegance and the cultivated -mind. The feudal system, Baffin, was a fool to our system. You must -write and explain it all to the Leicestershire Baffins. What, Baffin?" - -Baffin always offered the same reply-- - -"You _are_ a silly fool, Brink." - -Even the surrounding helots recognised and responded to the -psychological significance of the doctor's City costume. I shall always -remember an observation uttered by Ma Levinsky, who kept the fish shop -at the corner. - -It was Banking Day, and the doctor, suitably apparelled and accompanied -by the bag, was walking West, accompanied by your servant, to whom he -had promised to exhibit the interior of a real bank, and also to show -how one conducts an operation called "paying in." And when we passed -her, Ma Levinsky spoke to us, saying, "Cheero, Doctor, ole love. Got a -baby in the bag?" This to THE DOCTOR, mind you! You perceive the weird -magic of this cap. - -But even the two hours of holiday which the doctor "stood himself" on -Banking Days would come to an end, although it was not the least -remarkable fact connected with the whole absurd proceeding that the two -hours in question began at two o'clock and did not end till half-past -six. But when they did end, the doctor's sudden masquerade would also -end. The poacher's coat, the golfing shoes, would vanish, and in their -place appeared the solemn calf--gent's heavy walking--the not less -solemn morning coat--a somewhat tarnished vestment, but of undeniable -solemnity--and, lastly, the solemnest thing of all, the final token, the -apotheosis--the doctor's black silk hat. - -It was a profoundly aged hat. A hat of many lustres, the which had -swallowed up its own. But it was a _hat_--a black silk hat, and being -such it complied with all the conditions: it sufficed: it left no room -for criticism. And you did not catch the doctor looking human when he -had that hat on. - -I will not pretend that the doctor loved his hat. "It's the price which -I pay for my soul, this damned thing," he once explained to me. "I hate -to have to take it out with me, but Democracy insists. Democracy has a -sense of what is due to it. In Norfolk, you could wear what you -liked--your mother's bonnet if you wanted to. But you couldn't think -what you liked or love what you liked. Dammit, you couldn't even swear -at what you liked. Here, you are at liberty to do what you jolly well -please; but as to wearing what you please--why, that's another matter. -The doctor is known by his hat. They look for the hat. They expect -that. They _pay_ for the hat. And being an honest sort of chap (at -bottom), I give them what they pay for. This one cost me -ten-and-sixpence." - -Neither Ma Levinsky nor her rich relations would dare to bandy chaff -with the doctor when he was the doctor--when he wore the hat. Even the -leisured classes, airing their minds and matter as they propped up the -fabric of the "African Chief," forbore to utter even a whisper of native -pleasantry. Even the Jew-boys reserved the shafts of their wit for -meaner quarry. The black hat awed them all. - -I remember a certain Banking Day when I persuaded the doctor, cap and -all, to enter a public-house. It was called by the name of the "Four -Soldiers," and a board outside its windows proclaimed that Devonshire -cyder could be had within. But when we got within we found that -somebody had won some money at somebody else's expense, and that this -event was being celebrated. And our advent was accordingly received -with criticism and comment: wherefore we departed--quick. - -But hardly had we arrived at the surgery when a messenger appeared--a -rather anguished messenger, not very lucid. I answered his ring myself, -and can therefore speak authoritatively. - -"Dockeratome, young man?" - -"Yes," I said. - -"Telms wanted, quick. Ole Joe Black. Up the pole. Barmy. See? -Murder, see? Telms wanted." - -"Where?" I inquired. - -"Never mind where," responded this helpful emissary. "Telms wanted.... -Dockeratome?" he finally demanded, after a reflective pause. - -I called the doctor down to him at that stage; and the doctor helped him -to unlock his bosom. We found that old Joe Black and his complicated -infirmities were to be found at the "Four Soldiers"--the very house of -cheer which had so cheerfully exported us about five minutes ago.... -I--I wilted. The doctor smiled. He also put his hat on. - -When we arrived at the "Four Soldiers" I found myself entering the -public-house parlour of that guesthouse a few paces ahead of the doctor. -And I also found that a seafaring gentleman with a broken nose had -marked my entry. - -"'Ere's our little love-child come in again," observed this mariner -cheerfully. "Drop Jim a 'int aside the 'ead wiv yere belt-end, Bill." -But then---- - -But then--he saw _the hat_! Bill saw it also. Twenty other merry -gentlemen shared also in the vision. And a silence, a sticky silence, -thick as treacle, suddenly manifested itself. And we all looked up at -the ceiling. - -There was a hook on the ceiling, and a piece of rope and a man was -hanging there, the rope curled round his body and one leg. The man was -addressing the world beneath him; and now that the world had grown -strangely silent, his words were plain to hear. - -"Call yerselves _men_," the man was saying, "_I_ call ye caterpillars. -Stand by, ye greasy toads, and watch a true man 'ang 'isself. 'Ang -'isself, d'y'ear? 'Ang 'isself. I _will_ 'ang meself. I'll 'ang -meself dead as dogs' meat, and there's not a swab in Limus dare stop me. -Not one in this room. Not a god-forsaken son of a lady in this room. -Not even you, Tom Tinker." - -Tom Tinker being thus addressed made answer. He happened to be the -landlord of the inn, and a regard for his own future caused him to be -solicitous for that of the man on the ceiling. - -"Don't you be silly, Joe, me lad," he answered. "Don't you be rash. -You'll regret it, you know; you will that. Come down, now, when I tell -ye; come down before ye forget yeself. D'y'ear me? Come down. You'll -make a fool of yeself in a minnit." - -The man on the ceiling replied to this suggestion by removing a boot and -hurling it at the prophet's head. In so doing, he obtained a view of -the solemn countenance and black hat of the doctor. - -The strained and tragic expression of our gymnast's visage immediately -gave place to one of nervous greeting. - -"Evenin', Doctor!" he said. - -"Evening!" replied the doctor. "Come off that hook." - -"Whaffor?" demanded the man. - -"Because I tell you to. Come off, quick." - -The man began to whimper. "I can't," he said. "The rope's broke. 'Ow -can I?" - -"Jump." - -"Jump?" echoed the man. - -"Yes," said the doctor, "jump. I'll catch you. Jump!" - -The man jumped. - -We passed out amid a silence more than ever obvious. I remember one -thing clearly. The door was held open for me by an effusive, smiling -sailor-man--a sailor-man with a broken nose. - -I walked out stiffly, with confidence, with pride. I walked in the -shadow of THE HAT. - - - - - *XXIX* - - *ON EARNING SIXPENCE* - - -Behold our doctor on crutches and having his foot in a sling; deprived -also of all burgundies, by the heartless mandate of another doctor. -Behold him also in controversy with his daughter. - -"You are perfectly insane," said that lady. "Doctor Beaver said quite -distinctly that if you so much as moved your leg for the next three -days, he wouldn't be answerable for the consequences." - -"Haven't I been saying for the last three years that Beaver is an -ignorant old quack?" inquired the doctor. - -"And now," pursued his daughter, "because a drunken old woman comes -round and raves at you, smelling of gin like a--like a cistern, you -calmly propose to crawl out and go all the way to Burbidge Street, -because her daughter happens to object to the locum. I'm quite sure he's -a very decent locum; quite the nicest we've ever had. He's engaged to a -school-mistress, and he knitted that waistcoat himself." - -"The locum is a blasted young pup," responded Doctor Brink. - -"Heavens!" cried his daughter, "whatever is the matter with _this_ -locum?" - -"He's giving 'em _real drugs_," said the doctor, with gloom. - -"What if he is?" argued James; "I don't suppose it'll kill 'em." - -"Still," mused the doctor, "when people aren't used to that sort of -damfoolery---- I don't want my statistics mucked up. Besides, there's -the expense. And----" - -"Oh, blow the 'ands,'" replied his little daughter. "You've engaged the -man, and you've got to keep him. And you've got to pay him. He's come -here prepared to do a week's work, so for goodness sake let him do it. -I'm sure he's willing enough, at any rate." - -"Willing?" repeated the doctor; "my dear girl, he is the ultimate thing -in eagerness. I----" - -But the doctor's further observations on this head were interrupted by -the entry of the subject of them--a young gentleman in correct dress, -with fair hair and a face, who was introduced to me as Doctor Tewksbury. - -"I am sorry to say, Doctor," remarked this young man, "that that old -woman in Mulberry Buildings is dead." - -"What!" cried Doctor Brink. "Poor old Mrs. Thacker? I'm sorry. She -was a nice old thing." - -"Yes," assented Doctor Tewksbury, "an interesting old hag--such marked -symptoms. I wish I'd exhibited bromide." - -"It wouldn't have made any difference," said Doctor Brink. - -"Of course not," responded Doctor Tewksbury. "She was quite hopeless; -but still bromide was clearly indicated. Hullo--foot hurting?" - -"Not--not more than usual," answered Doctor Brink. "My back was -tickling. That's all. Any news?" - -"Nothin' particular," replied the locum, "exceptin' a woman in Burbidge -Street. Mrs. Groat, I think the name is. Had a sort of row with her. -It's the daughter's case really--a confinement; but when I got there the -old cow came to the door and she wouldn't let me in. Said her daughter -had engaged with you, and she didn't want no blasted schoolboys. She -was rather offensive." - -"After all," said Doctor Brink, rising clumsily to his feet and holding -hard to all of us, "she _did_ engage with me. It's a damnable nuisance; -but I'll have to go round." - -"Oh, rot," cried the locum. "Let the old fool rip." - -"Wait till Beaver catches you, that's all," observed his daughter. - -"You _are_ a fool, Brink," said I. - -"She's been round here twice already, while you were out, Tewksbury," -continued Doctor Brink. "All the family's been here, in fact; they're -much excited and very drunk. I expect they've been working on the -patient, and unless we do something she'll get into a frenzy and croak. -I shall have to go. Where's my damned hat?" - -"Now look here, Fatty," expostulated James, "you simply aren't going to -be _allowed_ to go. You----" - -"Old girl," said the doctor quietly, "subside. I'm going." - -So saying, the doctor grasped my shoulder in a grip that was not all of -friendship. "You come the other side," he said to James. "Tewksbury, you -mind the shop. Now we're off. Steady, now. Slowly. That's good. -Steady, now. Steady. Good again. Oh, Kreisler!" - -It was an exciting journey across the sitting-room, and that down the -stairway even more so. And when at last we gained the street, the bulk -of the journey lay before us. We accomplished it somehow--it lasted -less than a year, at any rate--and when we had at last arrived at the -interesting residence of Mrs. Groat, and had deposited the doctor on its -doorstep, the lady herself came out to greet us. - -"'Ow," she said, "yuv come at last, ye bleedin' makeshift!" - -We pushed him inside, and the door was closed behind him, and we walked -about and waited. When, nearly an hour later, the remaining fragments -of my rash friend were restored to us, Mrs. Groat came after them and -made further speech. - -"Ye spiteful old crow," she cried. "Ye didn't 'arf make 'er 'oller, did -ye? I'll show ye spite. I'll pay ye out for bein' ser spiteful. -Jes'you see. I'll pay ye out." - -Which she did. For when, after making the homeward journey in such a -fashion as to cause amazement and amusement to the whole neighbourhood, -we did arrive at the doctor's own house, it was to find that a medicine -bottle had found its billet on the consulting-room floor by way of the -consulting-room window. - -Tewksbury came down and helped us to carry the doctor up. And when we -had flopped our burden on to a couch, and Tewksbury had leisure for -reflection, he said-- - -"You will never convince me that this was all produced by burgundy." - - - - - *XXX* - - *DIALOGUE WITH A BRIDE* - - -She was rather a juvenile sort of bride: so much so, in fact, that a -civilised inquirer might have supposed the baby on her breast and the -ring upon her finger to be mere playthings. - -It was to be gathered, from her opening statement, that she was inured -to the married state, and that it held no terror for her. - -"If 'e comes it over me," she explained, "I gives 'im a shove in the -marf." - -She was an attractive child--rather freckled and very shrill; but having -cheerful eyes. - -"What you recommend me to do about Mine, Doctor? 'E's queer." - -DOCTOR BRINK: How queer? - -THE BRIDE: Queer in 'is 'ead. Won't talk to nobody. Won't eat. 'E's -learnin isself to write short'and. - -DOCTOR BRINK: But I think that's rather sensible. - -THE BRIDE: More sensible if he was to bring 'ome some money. 'E's a -chair-packer's labourer. What's the good o' short'and to a -chair-packer's labourer? - -DOCTOR BRINK: Perhaps he has ambitions. - -THE BRIDE (_gloomily_): Not 'im. 'E's got the sulks. If you go an' -give it a big name like that, 'e'll never get better. I ain't even let -'im know I've come to you--'e's ser easy encouraged. What 'e wants is a -dose o' your pale yaller--even my ole gran'ma can't drink that, and -she's been takin' medsin since _so_ 'igh. That's what 'e wants: a dose -o' your pale yaller and a flip be'ind the ear. - -DOCTOR BRINK: How old is your husband? - -THE BRIDE: Old enough to do some work. 'E'll be eighteen in March. - -DOCTOR BRINK: He's out of employment, then? - -THE BRIDE (_stiffly_): Well, 'e ain't out of employment, on'y 'e don't -go to work. There ain't no call for 'im to go, not unless 'e wants to. -We're independent. - -DOCTOR BRINK: Indeed? - -THE WIFE: Yus. We've 'ad some luck, through the misfortune of losin' -'is father. There's a matter of two 'underd pound at the lawyer's, and -more to come, they say. - -DOCTOR BRINK: It's a pity he can't find some work to do. Two hundred -pounds won't last for ever, you know. - -THE WIFE: There ain't no call for 'im to look for work. When the money -comes we're goin' inter business. - -DOCTOR BRINK: Oh! What sort of business? - -THE WIFE: The 'ardware, Doctor: joiners' bits and carpenters' tools, and -knives and 'and-saws. It's bin a fancy of 'is'n since boy'ood up. -That's the meaning of this short'and. 'E's educatin' 'isself for the -position. - -DOCTOR BRINK: Well, of course, an ironmonger isn't bound to know -shorthand; but---- - -THE WIFE: Not ironmongery, Doctor--the 'ardware: fine edge tools and -joiners' necessaries, and so forth. - -DOCTOR BRINK: But why object to this shorthand? After all, it keeps him -out of mischief. - -THE WIFE: It ain't the short'and I object to. It's him. Forever at -home: forever makin' his scratches. Forever lookin' sulky and cleanin' -'is nails. Never a word to say to me, nor so much as a look for the -child. 'E was 'armless enough when I married 'im. Full of life 'e was in -them days. Many's the 'idin' 'e's give me! - -DOCTOR BRINK: Cheer up! He'll get lively again one of these days, and -give you another hiding. Even shorthand ceases to amuse people after a -time. - -THE WIFE: Short'and don't amuse 'im. It on'y makes 'im stupid. 'E don't -wanter learn it, not reely: 'is 'ead ain't good enough for learnin'. 'E -likes to make me wild, that's all. As for hidin's, it's _'im_ what gets -the 'iding now: I don't believe in a girl takin' any o' that when you're -married. Walkin' out it's different. Besides, I earned it then. I was -a devil arter the boys in them days. - -DOCTOR BRINK: Oh, well: you were only a young thing then, of course.... -About this husband of yours; what is it you want me to do? I can't cure -shorthand, you know. - -THE WIFE: Well, Doctor, I don't see's there's anything you _can_ do, -reely. Only, I wish 'e'd go back to the chair-packin'. 'Ome ain't 'ome -with your man always in it. And 'e's ser sulky and ser pertickler. 'E -says we gotter go to church now that we've retired from work. We're -goin' ter have our shop front painted red. - -DOCTOR BRINK: I always look upon red as one of our leading colours. As -you say, there is really nothing which I can do. Anyhow, we've had a -useful little chat. - -THE WIFE: I like a little chat. It's a thing I don't seem to get very -orfen, nowadays. Me and my mother, we don't know each other. She says -we killed 'is father. She says I don't manage my baby. - -DOCTOR BRINK: I shouldn't argue with him. He'll get used to this money -in time, and then he'll be as noisy as ever again. - -THE WIFE: Argue with 'im? Me? I don't argue with 'im. When I got -anythink to say to 'im, 'e gets it aside o' the 'ead. I don't care, -even if we 'ave retired from work. I go on the same now as what I did -before; and so I shall when we've started the 'ardware. Sometimes I -wish this misfortune to 'is father 'ad never 'appened. I liked 'im -better in the chair-packin' days. I didn't see ser much of 'im. 'E -wasn't ser pertickler. 'E took a pleasure in his tea them days. -Sometimes he useder catch 'old of the kid.... And sometimes he useder -lark about with me.... I liked the look of 'im them days. Sometimes, I -wish we wasn't rich. - - - - - *XXXI* - - *AN INTERLUDE* - - -One result of my acquaintanceship with Doctor Brink is not entirely -pleasant. I have developed a sort of interest in poor people. - -I am always lighting, in odd corners, upon what I call "Brink cases." -Such experiences pursue me even into respectable places. I bumped into -one, lately, within a stone's throw of the Houses of Parliament, to -which place I was bound at midnight. - -The clouds were showing heavy and black upon a moonlit sky as I turned -on to the Thames Embankment by Hungerford Bridge, so that I shivered -extensively. These September nights, at best, do not add much to the -pleasures of a promenade. But this night was especially unconducive to -philosophic loitering. There was wind, and that constant, dull -foreshadowing of rain which is worse than a deluge. There were those -hurrying, hump-backed clouds, and their indefinite reflection upon the -greasy surface of the Thames. And the clock struck twelve, and a -policeman by my elbow spat and swore. And some vessel far up stream -gave harrowing expression to its feelings by means of that dismal -instrument which is humorously called a syren. Like the mysterious -stranger in the story books, I drew my travelling cloak around me, and -shuddered at the windy vastness of it all. - -And then I fell to smiling. For away yonder, in the mirk, figures were -moving and bobbing, and, by all the saints that care for vagrants, it -seemed to me that their movements suggested mirth. - -"These must be weird people," thought I to myself, as I went towards -them, "who can find anything to laugh at in this place?" As I drew -close up to them their figures stood out more clearly against the great -wall of the Embankment; and I saw that the prime cause of this apparent -joyfulness was a girl--a girl who was very young, and rather graceful. - -She wore an old straw hat and a heavy shawl, after the manner of her -kind, and one end of the shawl was much longer than the other, and was -caught up into a bundle beneath her arm. So that I guessed her to be -carrying a baby. - -One of her companions was a middle-aged man of round and rather stupid -build. As I came up he was moving slowly from one foot to the other, -and wagging his head. He wore a ragged overcoat, which was buttoned to -his ears, and he was waving an arm about in a manner which appeared to -be admonitory. - -The group was completed by a second man, younger than the other, and -taller. He was holding a hand to his face, which the girl had evidently -buffeted. The young fellow was saying something which I could not catch -in a plaintive voice, and the girl--jocund creature--was leaning against -the wall, swaying and shaking with silent laughter. - -That mournful syren still jarred upon one's ears, and set a cog-wheel -running up one's backbone; the dark clouds jostled each other as before, -and were reflected in the oily sludge beneath them; the wind blew from -every quarter at once, and the fallen leaves that lay upon the footway -rustled in it like a shroud. And this girl leaned up against a pillar -and shook herself with laughter. - -Then I went closer still and perceived my folly. The girl was not -laughing at all. That which I had supposed to be mirth was really its -opposite. The girl was _crying_--crying silently and effectively, and -without ostentation. When feminine lamentations are conducted with this -sort of restraint there is usually a reason for them. - -The stupid man spoke to the girl. "Why don't you take 'eed to what 'Erb -says?" he demanded. "Why dontchew go 'ome? There's sense in what 'Erb -says." - -And then the young man spoke, saying, "That's right, ole Emma. Come -along 'ome, ole Emma." - -The girl crept closer to the wall, flattened herself against it, as if -she sought protection there. "I--I wown't gow 'owm," she said, between -the sobs. "I wown't move from 'ere, I wown't, till it's nine o'clock. -The gentleman said, 'Come back at nine o'clock.' 'Come back at nine -o'clock,' he said. You 'eard what 'e said, 'Erb. I wown't move from -'ere, I wown't." - -'Erb went closer to her. They were all so occupied with this discussion -that I am sure my presence was not observed. It was as though I wore -some mantle of invisibility. I could have danced a hornpipe, I believe, -without attracting notice.... "What's the good of talkin' like that?" -said 'Erb to the girl. "Come along 'ome, Emma." - -"I wown't move a _step_ from 'ere, I wown't," responded Emma. "You 'ear -what I say? I wown't move, I tell you. The gentleman said, 'Come back -at nine o'clock,' an' at nine o'clock I'm goin' back--to see my baby. - -"... If you _was_ a man you'd take me over _now_"--she pointed, vaguely, -in the direction of Charing Cross Hospital--"you'd take me back and -fight 'em, you would, till they let us in. What they want to turn us -out till mornin' for? - -"I wanter see my baby, I do. My baby'll die afore it's morning. - -"'Come back at nine,' the gentleman said; and all its pore arm turned -stiff, an' white, an' swollen. What you wanter move that lamp for, you -fool? Why did you open the door? Did you 'ear 'im 'oller? Oh, Christ! -did you 'ear 'im 'oller? We'll lose 'im, 'Erb: my Gawd! we'll lose 'im. -Did you 'ear what the gentleman said? 'Come back at nine to-morrow -mornin',' 'e said. What'd 'e want to turn us out for, the swine? What -you want to go 'owm for? My baby's _there_, you ape: over there, with -the nurse an' the gentleman. Think I'd go 'owm wiv the likes o' _you_ -an' leave 'im? What you wanter move that lamp for? Did you see it -runnin' all over 'im, an' 'im 'ollerin', an' cuttin' 'is feet in the -glass of the chimbly? - -"Did you--did you? Go away, I tell you. I wown't move, I tell you. The -gentleman said, 'Come back at nine.' What you wanter worry me for? -What you wanter stop for? I want my baby--I--I--you makeshift, you, I -_'ate_ you." - -And the young man twisted his cap between his fingers, and drew a little -closer to her, and said, "Come along 'ome." - -"Yus, go along 'ome," supplemented the stupid man. "You can't stop out -'ere all night. And what's the good o' worryin'? People's got to pay -for bein' married an' that in _this_ world. It might be worse, you -know, young Emma----" - -"Ah!" interpolated the younger man. "It might be worse, you know, ole -Emma!" - -"What is it, after all," pursued his stout companion, "what is it, after -all, to bury a baby? I remember well when we was nailin' up our Number -Three----" - -The stout man's reminiscences ended suddenly. It was the fist of the -younger man which ended them. "Chew that, ye one-eyed wind-bag," -observed its owner. - -Then, drawing Emma gently from the wall, he placed his arm about her, -and whispered something in a voice which aspired clumsily to be hopeful. -Now that the girl was facing me, I could see that she did not carry a -child, as I had at first supposed. It was merely an end of shawl which -she carried--a rude sort of nest or pocket, pressed close to her bosom, -as if in waiting for some tender burden. - -"Come along 'ome, ole girl," the young man urged. "What's the use o' -dawdlin'?" - -"Go away!" replied the woman. "Leave a girl in peace, can't you? I'm -waitin' for my baby. I'm waitin' for nine o'clock, like the gentleman -said.... I wonder if 'e's sleepin'? I wonder if they've 'urt 'im? ... -I wonder if he's dead?" - -"Ain't you comin' 'ome?" pleaded the man. - -"Ain't you goin' away?" the woman answered. "What's the good o' -pesterin'? Can't you 'ear what I tell you? Do you wanter send me -mad--fussin' an' pesterin'? - -"There's a clock; one, now, an' the gentleman said nine." - -"That was 'arpas' twelve struck then," observed the stout man. - -"And the gentleman said nine," sighed the girl. - -"Think e'll 'ave 'is mind back be the mornin', 'Erb? 'E never knowed -nothin' when we left; never knowed nothin' when I carried 'im out from -'ome. Did you see 'ow fast 'is teeth was? Did---- The gentleman said, -'Don't worry.' Must be a fool. What did you wanter move the lamp for?" - -"Table was so full, an' the cloth was draggin'. Anyone might 'a' -stepped on it. I never meant no 'arm, ole Emma." - -"Bin all right if the door was shut. Might be nursin' 'im now, 'Erb, in -yere overcoat, 'stead of 'im---- Did you see ow drored out 'is fingers -was when the gentleman come to look? 'Ow long before nine? Think -they'd let us in before? It's all through that door bein' open. That -curtain it---- Gawd's Truth, 'Erb, it was the _noo_ curtain what I put -up yesterday. It was _my_ curtain. _I_ done it, I killed my baby." - -"'_E_ ain't killed," asserted the fat man. "Be as right as I am in a -twel'month." - -"I put up that curtain to show off; that's all I put it up for. And it -blew on to the lamp, an' it--it--Gawd blind me, I've killed my baby." - -"That's a lie!" shouted the man. "Didn't I leave the door open? Didn't -I shove the dam thing right under the curtain? Begod, I did. Don't -tell lies to yeself, ole Emma. It was me as done it. It was me as burnt -that little beggar's arm. Wish to Gawd I'd burnt me eyes out first." - -"Go' bless my soul," observed the stupid man, "what _is_ the use of -quarrellin' over trifles? Whatever does it matter whether the lamp -moved the curtain or the curtain moved the lamp? Thing's done, ain't -it? Boy's arm's all charred up. Why argue? Take an' get a good night's -sleep. Ain't we all 'ad trouble? When my first went down----" - -"I 'it 'im to-day," said the woman. "For eatin' coal, it was." - -The man drew her hand into his, which was not more rough and shapeless. -"'E thought the world o' you, ole Emma," he observed. - -"'Ow long to nine o'clock, 'Erb? 'Ow long afore they'll let us see 'im? -The gentleman said, 'Don't worry.' ... We was mad to leave 'is cradle -there." - -"It's all so full in the room," replied 'Erb. "I was gointer move next -quarter. Allus next quarter, Gawd strike me! If we'd took that room we -was lookin' at Easter time, there was gas there an'--an'----" - -"I _wanted_ to 'ave it," whined the woman. - -"When," pursued her husband, "when I was puttin' them rockers on the -sugar-box, I _did_ say as we'd 'ave a 'ooded top, to finish it. But I -changed me mind. Devil take me! I changed me mind." - -"It'd 'a' saved 'im, that would," observed the woman. "We'd 'a' found -'im sittin' up an' laughin' at the fireworks.... Remember that day when -the water come in?" - -"R!" answered the man. "Rare tickled 'e was. Remembers it to this day. -I'll lay any money 'e was tryin' to tell me about it when we was in the -park o' Sunday. 'E----" - -"Oh, Christ! my baby," cried the woman; and she lay sobbing in his arms. - -He led her to a seat, and she cried silently upon his shoulder for a -long, long while. When she next spoke it was to wonder about the time. -"Is it _very_ long to nine o'clock?" she inquired. And the man said, -"Not so very. You lie still, ole Emma: you're all right; you lie -still." - -Then Emma remembered that by moving the tin trunk which stood by the -wash-stand to an empty niche beneath the table, a place of security -might have been provided for that sugar-box. And they discussed all the -other might-have-beens: and his beauty, and cheerfulness, and the -surprising precocity of his speech. She trembled, and sobbed and -sobbed, and her husband swore. They talked about all the other -might-have-beens again; and the stupid man faced them, scratching his -head, and saying: - -"What _is_ the use of all this argument?" - -After which the constabulary arrived, and flashed lamps upon them; and -they rose heavily, and moved away. - -But I found them, presently, upon another seat. Emma's blue-white face -was upon her husband's shoulder, and her lips were tightly clenched as -she spoke to him. "'Ow long we got to wait till nine o'clock?" she -asked. - -"Not so long," replied the man.... "You lie still, ole Emma." - -She sighed, very slowly. And I noticed that a hummock of shawl was -caught up close beneath her arm. - - - - - *XXXII* - - *LOW FINANCE* - - -He was a self-complacent, ox-voiced man, and being clothed on with his -Sunday blacks, he looked objectionable. He surged into Dr. Brink's -consulting-room all frothy and foamy with fellowship. "Evenin', Doc.," -he gurgled. '"Ow's yeself?" - -"Let me see your tongue?" said the doctor, who was tired and -absent-minded. This was the ninety-seventh tongue which he had clamoured -for that day: a fact which perhaps accounted for the absence from his -manner of that sympathetic and anecdotal touch which distinguishes those -learned men who follow the reputable or credit branch of his profession. - -"It ain't about meself I've come, ole man," explained the visitor. -"Leastways," he added, with an air as of scrupulous exactitude, "it -ain't about me present self. I come to thank you for all your goodness -to me during my accident." - -The doctor responded with a wondering stare. - -"I come to thank you for all your goodness to me, Doc.," repeated the -man. "And," he added, as one giving utterance to a careless -afterthought, "to see about my little bill." - -"When did I attend you?" demanded the doctor. - -"When did you attend me?" repeated the patient reproachfully. "Why, you -attended me twice. I am that serious driving accident what you was -called in to look at four weeks ago. And I bin round to see you once -since then." - -"Serious driving accident," mused the doctor. Then--with an acid -smile--"I think I remember now. The accident suddenly showed itself in -your shoulder, didn't it, five days after the occurrence? And I -couldn't find the place, could I? Not even a bruise." - -"It was very painful, Doctor," explained the invalid; "one of them -inward bruises. They do say as that's the worst sort o' damage as kin -'appen to a man, getting a inward bruise, same's what I did. I bin -layed up fower weeks 'long o' that accident." - -"And it took five days to mature. Ever heard of a disease called -'afterthought'?" - -"Can't say rightly as I 'ave," admitted the sufferer. - -"It is a curious sort of complaint," the doctor explained; "attacks a -man very often in cases like this. Quite small things aggravate it, -too; talkative friends, for example." - -"Will you make the bill out, Doctor?" requested the victim of this -strange ailment. - -"No need for a bill, is there?" said the doctor. "I can tell you what -you owe me out of hand. One visit to your house, one consultation here: -total, eighteenpence." - -"I'd prefer a proper invoice, Doctor," admitted the maimed one. "And -look 'ere, ole man, make it out fur a sovereign, will ye? I ... I want -to show it to my firm." - -"With pleasure," said the doctor. "Have you brought the sovereign with -you?" - -"Eh?" snapped the man. - -"I asked if you had brought the sovereign," repeated the doctor. "If -your firm is prepared to pay me a sovereign for my services to you, I -shall, of course, be delighted to make out a bill for that amount." - -"But you on'y seed me twice," protested the visitor. - -"That is what I wish to point out. My proper fees amount to eighteen -pence. But if you want to pay me a p----" - -"I _don't_ wanter to pay you a pound," bellowed the petitioner angrily. -"Nothing so ridiculous." - -"In that case," responded the doctor, "let us say no more about the -bill." - -"Do you call yeself a genelman?" demanded this martyred soul, with a -choke in his voice. "Do you call yeself a genelman to stop a pore -drayman from earnin' his honest compensation? 'Ow'm I goin' on for -compensation?" - -"Compensation for what?" inquired the doctor. - -"Fur me accident," replied the man. "I bin laid up fower weeks." - -"One day of which," the doctor pointed out, "you spent in bed. Did they -stop your wages?" - -"Well, no," admitted the martyr. "They paid me me wages all right. But -I ain't drored nothink fur me accident." - -"You drew a very comfortable holiday, at any rate," suggested the -doctor. "A four weeks' rest cure on full wages. And that shoulder, you -know, it was not what one could call a permanent injury: it hardly -amounted to disablement. Do you think so?" - -"Words," stated the sufferer, "cannot describe the agonies what I bin -through." - -"You surprise me," murmured Dr. Brink. "Anyhow, you've been strong -enough to do a lot of standing about outside the 'African Chief.'" - -"What if I 'ave?" submitted the injured man. "Ain't I still entitled to -compensation fur my accident?" - -"It seems to me you've had it," argued the doctor. - -"That I ain't," asserted the indignant claimant; "not a blighted -'a'penny." - -"Four weeks' rest, full pay," recited the doctor, with an air of -monotony. - -"Wiv me shoulder-blade all to Bucklesbury," added the claimant. "And -not a brazen farthing fur me accident. I 'ad the corpuscular accident -all right, I suppose? Ye don't deny it, do ye?" - -"By no means," exclaimed the doctor. "Didn't I myself attend you for a -unique complaint in the shoulder-blade?" - -"Very well, then," pursued the invalid, somewhat mollified by this -admission. "In that case I demand my rights. I demand the rights of a -honest workin' man. I ask for compensation for my accident, same's what -I'm entitled to accordin' to lor. Will you write out that invoice fur -me?" - -"Certainly: for the exact amount which you may care to pay me." - -"Do you call yeself a man?" demanded the visitor, with heightened -colour. "What the scarlet letter do ye reckon I engaged ye for? Think -I wanted ye for the sake of yere filthy physic? Ain't ye got no 'eart? -Make out the invoice like a fair-minded man. Never tell me as you'd -'ave the 'eart to rob a pore man of 'is money.... They've refused to -give me compensation fur my accident, and now 'ere's you--a genelman -born, as oughta be above sich actions--you're gointer rob a pore man of -'is doctor's bill.... Besides, I _tole_ 'em that I owed a sovereign to -the doctor, and they tells me to produce the invoice.... What am I to -tell my firm?" - -"Tell them what you like," replied the doctor. "I certainly shall give -you no receipt for money which I haven't had." - -"Then 'ow do I go on?" queried the visitor. - -The doctor shrugged his shoulders. - -'"Ow'm I goin' on fur compensation--fur my accident?" - -The doctor repeated his shrug. "It seems to me," he said, "that your -firm has treated you well. You don't know much, you know." - -"I may be a fool," admitted the afflicted one, "but I know my rights. I -oughter be paid some compensation fur me accident.... You won't do -nothing to 'elp me, then?" - -"I can't," replied the doctor. "What you want is a new head." - -"Do I?" retorted the caller, flourishing his wounded arm. "That's the -very thing as _you'll_ be needin', ole sport, if ever I meets you -outside. Call yeself a man? _I_ call you a swindlin' 'pothecary. I -tell you one thing, Mister Whatsitname. Whenever I 'as another -haccident, I takes it to the bloomin' 'orspital. I do know _that_ much. -See?" - - - - - *XXXIII* - - *THE MOTHERS' MEETING* - - -The morning callers at Dr. Brink's dispensary are all of them women or -little children. You may suppose that the waiting-room wears then a -strange and wistful air, for the men being absent, with their hoarse, -funereal pleasantries, and the shuffling young boys being absent too, -and the girls likewise, having carried their titters and squeaks to the -factory, there is not much to amuse folk in the waiting-room. - -You cannot expect a married woman to be very cheerful at the best of -times, and when there is the place to tidy and the rent man expected, -and the children will soon be coming home for their slabs and what not, -and you have slipped out just for half a tick to get that dizzy feeling -seen to, it is more than usually dull to be sat in a row with twenty -other females, similarly cursed--some of them having babies at their -breasts or little squalling things what hold fast to their skirts, and -the place that stuffy and all, and a stink of iodine coming out of the -doctor's room. Taking one consideration with another, it is not to be -wondered at that the morning patients do not wear that air of curiosity -and pleasure which a visit to the doctor should properly occasion. - -The morning patients have an absent-minded look--a dull, foreboding -look, as of people who are too busy really to enjoy themselves. Some of -them, also, are accompanied by their button-holes or other objects of -light and profitable home employment, at which they work with assiduity -whilst waiting for the doctor's call. Others, upon the other hand, -bring peppermint drops. One lady has brought some literature--the -outward wrapper of an ancient issue of a paper called _The Pilot_. So -there they loll, all silent, many of them yawning--out of rudeness, or -boredom, or fatigue, or something, one supposes. - -If you sit upon the gas-stove, you can watch them all as they come into -the consulting-room. You can watch, for instance, the experienced -matron, who enters with the baby that _won't_ get well, and dumps it -down, in a business-like manner, upon the doctor's table. - -"There you are," she says in the manner of one who has successfully -completed a conjuring trick, "look at that tongue. Did _ever_ you see -sich a thrush?" - -"M'yes!" admits the doctor. "It's pretty bad. I'll give you a powder -and some syrup." - -"Powder? Syrup?" echoes the matron. "H'm! Pity you can't give 'im a -corfin. That's the on'y treatment what'll give any peace to _this_ pore -little swine. What mercy, _I_ say, is there in letting a thing like -this live on? Look at it." - -When, to your great relief, the experienced matron goes away, you will -be very lucky if you do not wish her back again, for it is ten to one -that she will be followed by an apprentice to the trade, a poor wild -thing whose senseless, shiftless, screaming mother-agony will hurt you -ever so much more than the grim philosophy of the veteran. - -"It seems to grip 'im, Doctor," the apprentice will say, "and throw 'im -down, pore lamb, an' wrestle with 'im, Doctor, same's there was a -fish-bone in 'is little throat, and 'im so weak, 'e don't have strength -enough to 'oller, and 'im so blue and mottled, Doctor, and -strangled-looking in the face, and the powder, that ain't doin' 'im no -good. The Irishwoman down below, she dreamt she seed 'im in a shroud, -and, Doctor, I see meself as 'e gets thinner, and I believe me milk 'as -got some poison in it, along of some oysters what I eat one Sunday, and -so I see 'im gettin' thinner, Doctor, and there's the strangled look -a-comin' _now_! Won't you give 'im somethink, Doctor? What did you say I -was to take 'im to the breast for? I tell you my milk 'as got the -microbes in it. Oh, Christ! what can a woman _do_? And Mine he comes -'ome late and stands and swears at me wiv no more feelin' than a 'og. -Me gran'father Murphy's eyes 'e's got. There, then, sonny; there, then. -What'll you do for 'im, Doctor? I seed a black cat on our winder-sill -last night. My Gawd!--see 'ow it grips 'im!" - -By the time you feel disposed to come back to the gas-stove again it -will be seen that the apprentice mother has given place to a grandmamma, -who has looked in, as a friend, to mention that much gossip is arising -in consequence of the extreme youth of Dr. Brink's apothecary. - -Far be it from her--Elizabeth Tebbings--to be one as would carry idle -tales or utter idle plaint, but the fact remained and could be very -solemnly attested by many honest witnesses from Mulberry Buildings that -the medicine which she, Elizabeth Tebbings, had last Tuesday week -received from the apothecary possessed a strange, unusual, and -forbidding flavour--a nasty-nice sort of flavour which gave you shivers -down your back. - -"Far be it from me," protested Mrs. Tebbings, "to cast no slur, -especially when the parints of the party has been friends and neighbours -along with anybody--good neighbours, too--'is father especially being -the 'andsomest man in the Customs service--but the truth is the truth -even though a young man's parints _is_ beknown to you, and to tell you -the truth of _this_ affair, Doctor, young Wilfered Crage 'e _is_ -young--a mere boy, Doctor, if you understand my meanin'. And, unwilling -as I am, 'avin' come to a motherly time of life, for to kerry tales, -still I must say--speaking friendly, mind you, Doctor--that the medicine -_did_ taste ugly. Me brother Joseph tells me there was stricknyne in -it." - -The doctor, having closely examined the water-tap in Wilfered's official -laboratory, is heard to assure Mrs. Tebbings that her fears of -strychnine poisoning are groundless, and that lady goes out with her -confidence partially restored. "At the same time," she insists from the -threshold, "the boy _is_ young. And you got to remember that some of -your patients _'ave_ died sudden, Doctor. Look at that girl wiv 'earts -disease what lived in our basement!" - -The next woman to enter has come to "engage." "I expect about the first -week in September," she says. "An' if you please I'd like to pay a -couple o' shillin' orf me ticket now. An', if you please, Doctor, will -you give me the ticket with the two shillin' wrote orf? On'y will you -give me another ticket, too, without nothink wrote orf? I want one so's -I kin show it to me 'usband, see, Doctor? 'Cause if 'e see as I bin -able to pay orf any, 'e'll say as I kin pay the lot orf, and I want to -git a little 'elp from 'im, Doctor, so's to 'elp me over it all." - -This mild and unreproachful statement will probably provide you with a -subject of thought. But your attention is diverted from that theme by -the sudden appearance of one more mother--a hearty, stalwart, red-faced -mother, with an ample bosom. - -This mother produces from behind the door a hearty, stalwart, red-faced -boy. "'Is teef is rotten, Doctor," she explains. "I brought 'im round -to 'ave 'em out. There's three wants coming out. They're all the same -side. See 'em?" - -"I see them," replies the doctor. "But three teeth at--er--one sitting! -Isn't that _rather_ a tall order? Don't you think, perhaps, now, that -we'd better take out only two to-day and leave the other one for -treatment later on?" - -The mother grins extensively, shaking her jolly head. - -"Never mind, Doctor," she says, "let's 'ave 'em all out. It's on'y -eighteenpence." - - - - - *XXXIV* - - *THE WOES OF WILFERED* - - -Wilfered, the 'Pothecary, hath a sorrow, or rather two sorrows, if not -more than that. - -Some of these sorrows have reference to his master's interests; and it -was in the capacity of Doctor Brink's familiar friend that I was -privileged to learn some details of Wilfered's private and professional -afflictions. - -We were in the dispensary, Wilfered having just explained that there -were limits to the things which even he could stand; that the affections -of a man and a 'Pothecary could be toyed with once too often, when a -little maid came in. She was quite a little maid--some four to five -spans high--the top of her dishevelled head being scarcely on a level -with the ledge of Wilfered's peep-hole--that mysterious recess through -which he views and governs the multitude within the doctor's -waiting-room. The little maiden, having rapped authoritatively upon the -wainscoting, held up an arm with a penny at the end of it, and a face -enamelled over with soot and treacle. Said this client, speaking -quickly-- - -"Penny powder for a baby six months owld." - -Wilfered's expression of general discontent changed to one of immediate -and particular disgust. "What do you say?" he demanded of the client. - -"Please," murmured that lady, with the air of one triumphantly conscious -of that which was expected of her. - -Wilfered solemnly shook his head. "Never mind about yere manners," said -Wilfered. "What d'ye want?" - -"Penny powder for a baby six months owld," repeated the child. - -Wilfered turned from the client to me, a look as of despair upon his -face. - -"This is the sorter thing you gotter contend against," he complained. - -Then addressing himself once more to the child, he uttered a sort of -formula which he keeps for these emergencies-- - -"We don't sell powders yere. If you wanter powder, go to the chimmis." - -The infant looked at him hopelessly. "Mover told me to come yere," she -said. - -"Under the circumstances," responded Wilfered, uttering another formula, -"we will let you 'ave the powder. We won't sell it. We'll _give_ it -you. Nex' time, go to the chimmis." - -"That's the sorter thing you gotter contend against," said Wilfered -again, as the client departed. - -He was about to repeat this observation for the third time, when his -thoughts were distracted by the entry of another juvenile client--an -older and taller girl than the last, though hardly a cleaner one. - -"Penny soothin' powder for a baby eight months owld," demanded the -new-comer. She was the possessor of a wide, immovable smile. - -Wilfered bestowed another of his speaking glances upon your servant. -And to the client he repeated his formula: "We don't sell powders yere, -my gal. If you wanter powder, go to the chimmis." - -The lady listened to this statement with an attentive air. Then she -spoke again, saying, "Penny soothin' powder for a baby eight months -owld." - -"We don't sell powders, I tell you," responded Wilfered. - -"No," said the girl, "but you give 'em." - -Wilfered extended his head a further inch through the peep-hole. His -nose and that of the client almost touched each other. - -"This is a noo game, ain't it?" demanded Wilfered. - -"What next? 'Cause we 'appen to give you a powder once, out of our -generosity, seem to think you on'y got to come in yere to get one on the -nod atenny minnit. Go to the chimmis." - -"Ma towld me to come yere," protested the client. - -"Then," said Wilfered, "you go 'ome an' tell yere Ma as I refuse to -serve ye. Seem to take us for a 'firmary. We don't sell powders, nor -we don't give 'em--except first time to a reg'lar customer what does not -know our rules. And if we was to sell powders, it wouldn't be for a -penny, me gel. - -"These powders," continued the loyal but shameless 'Pothecary, "are made -up outer the very best drugs. They cost _us_ frippence. You go 'ome an' -tell yere mother _that_." - -The lady went home, to be followed, in the course of nature--this being, -as it were, "the children's hour"--by another lady, younger and smaller -than any of her predecessors, demanding "A penny powder for----" - -"'Oose baby?" demanded Wilfered. - -"Baby four months old," replied the messenger. - -"_'Oose_ baby?" repeated Wilfered. - -"My baby," said the child. - -"You bin 'ere afore about your baby?" inquired the 'Pothecary. - -"No," said the messenger. - -"Oh," mused Wilfered. "What name?" - -"'Ilder," said the messenger. - -"Mother's name, I mean," explained Wilfered. - -"Mrs. Bates, Mulberry Street," said Mrs. Bates's emissary. - -And Wilfered repeated his formula: "Tell yere mother as we'll _give_ 'er -the powder this once, but nex' time you must send to the chimmis. We -don't sell powders yere." - -Mrs. Bates's daughter, having received her powder, and being as yet -without a proper understanding, deposited the penny with which she had -been entrusted upon the ledge of Wilfered's peep-hole, and bolted from -the waiting-room. - -Wilfered gazed upon this coin with an air of indecision. Finally, he -picked it up (between a finger and thumb) and flung it into the till. -His actions said plainer than words that he possessed a professional -sentiment which was outraged at the thought of accepting this tainted -money. - -And then--for events move quickly in Bovingdon Street--who should come -bouncing in again but the big girl whom he had previously dismissed--she -of the immovable smile. - -"Penny soothin' powder for a baby eight months owld," said the big girl. - -Wilfered was at first unable to speak; but when he did so, it was with -point and emphasis. - -"I suppose," he said, with scorn, at the end of his address, "as you kin -understand plain English? We _down't sell powders_. And if we did, we -couldn't sell 'em for a penny. These powders cost _us_ frippence. Did -ye tell yere mother that?" - -"Yus," responded the girl, "but mother says she can't 'elp _your_ -troubles." - -Wilfered held on to the pill-tub and looked wildly about him. Then, -with a deep-drawn sigh, he held out a powder and took the penny. - -"What is the use o' arguin?" he demanded of your servant. "Look what -you got to contend against." - - - - - *XXXV* - - *STILL MORE OF PRUDENCE* - - -Baffin came bouncing in one morning and bounced me off the gas-stove. - -His hair was ruffled and his face was flushed and his eyes were flashing -sparks. - -"My God!" he cried. "I--I've made a weird, a wild, a terrible -discovery. Good God, who would have thought it! That child, mind you, -that imbecile. 'God, sir, if this were a humane and Christian country, -I should be allowed to call the damned beast out and carve patterns on -him." - -"You are referring to----" - -"Prudence--Prudence," responded Baffin, with agitation. "She HAS TOLD -ME ALL. Come in and see her." - -Prudence had flung herself down upon a grimy sugar-box, and lay there, -still and bruised and broken. There was an awful quiet in the room. - -Baffin resumed his remarks in reference to the subject of damned beasts. -I hushed him with a grave, paternal glance. - -"Think of poor Prudence," I said. - -Prudence rose slowly to her feet. She thrust back the hair from before -her eyes. - -"Oh, my Gawd! Mr. Baffin," she said, "you do gow in for the funniest -talk ever! 'Ere--I say, when I was down there, do you know what I see? -I see as there is a crack in that sugar-box; I do believe that's where I -dropped that picture powstcard what I lorst 'ere last sittin'. - -"Oo-er, it will be all right if we can find it there, wown't it, now? I -'ave missed that card, I can't tell you! 'Cos my mother give me that -card, an' I love everythink what my mother gives me. You dunnow _what_ -a good mother I got, Mr. Baffin. She's working 'ard all day to bring me -up proper, she is, an' the place on 'er arm is _ever_ so bad still. If -on'y I could learn to sit still, I could earn a lot of menny to give to -my mother, couldn't I, Mr. Baffin? 'Cos you said so, didn't you, Mr. -Baffin? - -"See if I don't learn to sit still; people that try can always succeed, -can't they? My mother often tells me that. Be a dear, an' move the box, -Mr. Baffin." - -We moved the box, but the card was not there; and Prudence succumbed to -a fresh outbreak of tears, and had to be comforted with condensed milk, -which she relished in spoonfuls direct from the tin. We rescued this -stimulant from Prudence in time to avert the tragedy of an overdose; and -then she departed. "I got a friend waitin' for me," she said, "an' my -mother said I was to be 'ome early. An' this is my mother's ironin' -night.... 'Ere, Mr. Baffin--was you laughin' at me when I come over -funny on the box there? 'Cos I won't sit for anybody what laughs at me. -I'll go out charrin', an' spoil me 'ands, that's what I'll do. Don't -you think I could learn to do charrin' if I wanted to? I can learn a -lot if I try." - -"Don't spoil your hands," said Baffin; "they are beautiful hands." - -Baffin did not flatter her. Prudence's hands were as the hands of a -lute-player--slender and white and sensitive, flowing from wrists which -carried themselves subtly, like a fair swan's neck. Such hands, I -believe, may be produced by the simple process of being folded -gracefully for ten generations. We often wondered, Baffin and I, whence -Prudence derived those hands. That much-talked-of lady, Prudence's -mother, had never been presented to us; but--frail hands and a frail -spirit! Which of these was the mother's gift? - -"Hee! hee!" giggled Prudence, as she spread the little hands before her, -"yew ain't 'arf a tease, are yew, Mr. Baffin? ... Funny 'ands fur -charrin', ain't they, though? ... May I flap your letter-box as I go -out? It don't 'arf rattle. Oo, I _em_ a silly girl, _I_ em! 'Ere, I -say--when I come to sit agen, shall I bring my mouth-organ, and show you -'ow I'm learnin' meself to play 'The Bluebells of Scotland'? An' you'll -look for my picture card, wown't you, 'cos my mother give it to me? And -please let me sit agen soon. Oy revoy." - -When it became quite clear, from the silence of the letter-box flap, -that Prudence had wholly departed, Baffin sat himself wearily down and -groaned. - -"What the deuce ought one to do?" he demanded, with great earnestness. - -"This being your affair," I answered, "you will have to think out that -little problem for yourself. The circumstance of your living in a -Christian country will not ... prove helpful." - -"Don't tell Brink," said Baffin. "He'll want to poison her." - - * * * * * - -Seven days later Prudence came bursting in Baffin's studio on a mission -of protest. - -"'Ere, Mr. Baffin," she exclaimed, "what about this spyin'? I down't -like it at all, I down't, and my mother down't like it; an' will you -arst your friend, Mrs. Vesey, to mind 'er own business? Seems to take a -lot of interest in me an' my business, she does, an' I down't like it, -an' my mother down't like it, 'cos it is no business of 'ers to bother -about my business, an' I believe she's got a lotter funny ideas in 'er -'ead, an' I down't know what she means, an' I down't like 'er. - -"What's she wanter come to our 'ouse for at all? She comes round in 'er -carriage, she does. Oo, you oughter see the funny cross-eyed coachman -what she's got! Oo, and she don't 'arf wear no rings, neether. An' my -mother says you sent 'er, cause she tole my mother so, and what does she -wanter come fussin' round _our_ place for--settin' the neighbours -talkin'? An', 'ere, I say, Mr. Baffin, she's gointer take me to the -London 'Ippodrome." - -"You leave it to Mrs. Vesey," said Baffin subsequently. "_We_ can't -manage Prudence, but Mrs. Vesey can. _She'll_ fix up Prudence. -Consulted her lawyer yesterday.... Oh, they'll settle that nobleman all -right." - -Not long after this conversation Prudence's visits to the studio were -temporarily suspended. Prudence was out of town. Mr. Baffin would -explain to inquiring spirits that she had taken it in her head to go on -tour as a chorus girl. "A cheap sort of holiday, don't you know!" - -In due course Prudence returned to town. - -Her first professional visit was paid to Baffin, and it pained me to -notice that her very first observation caused that gentleman to blush. -"I 'ave got some queer friends, I ave. What you think some saucy 'ound -'as done _now_? Sent along a _cradle_ to my 'ouse! Do you know 'oo it -was, Mr. Baffin? I bin away, you know--nursin' my sick uncle at -Ramsgate, you know--an' it come while I was down there. I on'y got back -from Yarmouth yesterday, an' the first thing I see was this joke. Silly -joke, wasn't it, Mr. Baffin? 'Cos Mrs. Vesey was at _our_ 'ouse. - -"An', 'ere, I say, Mr. Baffin, my gran'pa died when I was nursin' him at -Margate, an' there's some money comin' to me, on'y it's goin' to be took -care of for me, so's I can dror a little every week. An' my mother's -makin' me a noo 'at. - -"'Ere, an' I can't sit for you be the day any more, Mr. Baffin, 'cos my -mother's lonely, an'--an'--I don't like to leave my mother be 'erself -all day. I got to go home to my--my mother now; an' I can come at -eleven in the mornin', and go away to dinner, an' come back in the -afternoon and stay till teatime--see? On'y I can't stop later than -teatime, an' I can't stop all day, 'cos I don't like leavin' my mother, -an' I got to go back an'--an' 'ave a look at 'er, like--see? Oo-_er_, I -_am_ late, Mr. Baffin: I ought to 'ave been back to my mother 'arf a -hour ago. Oh, do let me go, Mr. Baffin! My--my mother might get very -ill if I didn't get back to her punctual." - -"Lying little fathead!" observed Mr. Baffin later. - -Prudence's faith in our simplicity remained unshaken. "Time you went -home to your mother now," Baffin would assert at fitting intervals. And -Prudence would answer, "Oo-er, yes; my mother 'll be waitin' for me. I -mustn't keep my mother waitin'!" - -The value of her services grew less (if possible) at every sitting. Her -capacity for wriggling returned to her with unabated force: the giggles -came back, too, and the original fund of anecdote. - -Mr. Baffin congratulated himself on these signs. "We'll keep up the -pretence at 'sitting' a _little_ longer," he said, "and then I'll deny -myself the luxury of her assistance for a month or two. We'll call it a -'cure' on Monday." - -But when Monday came, I noticed at once certain evidences of a "relapse" -in Prudence. The tears had come back, and the sulks and the silence. -Even Baffin's reminder that mother's hour for being visited had arrived -did not seem to move her. "I'm an un'eppy gel, I am," said Prudence. - -"I want to ask you something, Mr. Baffin." - -"Yes, yes," said Baffin. - -"I--I on'y wanted to arst you," Prudence was saying, "do--do you believe -in bookmakers?" - -"What?" said Baffin. - -Prudence repeated her inquiry. - -"I--I don't believe in--in auctioneers," said Baffin, blinking. - -"I know you down't," responded Prudence. "But I want to know your -opinion of bookmakers--_this time_." - - - - - *XXXVI* - - *A BIRTHDAY PARTY* - - -I was sitting on the gas-stove in Dr. Brink's refectory when Mr. William -Dawkins entered the consulting-room. And having applied my eye to the -squint-hole so thoughtfully provided by Dr. Brink for the education of -his guests, I was able to view and rejoice in the arrival of Mr. -Dawkins. - -That gentleman's "entrance," as they say in the Strand, was decidedly -impressive. He came in under the escort of three cronies, and he was -wearing a white waistcoat and a smile and a blood-stained head. He was -singing. - -"Did you collect all this by the side of the Zuyder Zee?" inquired the -doctor, in his softest bedside voice. - -The patient offered no reply to this question; but smiling, oh, so -happily, he continued to pour forth the fresh, glad notes of his -voluntary. The largest and dirtiest member of the escort, feeling, -evidently, that the circumstances demanded explanation, was accordingly -so kind as to offer it. - -"This," he said, "is Bill Dawkins. Young Bill Dawkins, you know: 'im -what works at the coal-wharf." - -The doctor bowed. "Bill is a hearty fellow," he said, "and his head has -been banged about damned awful, and you have not introduced me to him a -moment too soon. I shall have to stitch that forehead." - -Mr. Dawkins received this information with his sunniest smile. "Don't -be shy, ole love," he said. "Bill don't fret, thank Gawd. My name is -Bill Dawkins. Thank Gawd fur that!" - -"I shan't be shy," replied the doctor, with a reassuring smirk, as he -fumbled amongst a case of cutlery. "What have you been up to, by the -way?" - -Mr. Dawkins, however, had relapsed into melody: and the only answer -which Dr. Brink received to his inquiry was the assurance that he was -Mr. Dawkins's Bluebell. - -"What _has_ he been up to?" asked the doctor again, addressing himself -to the largest escort. - -"Eh?" said that gentleman. - -"I say," repeated the doctor, preparing for action, "that I'd like to -know what he's been up to?" - -"'Oo been up to?" inquired the escort. - -"William," said the doctor. - -"'E ain't been up to nothing. This is young Bill Dawkins. '_E_ ain't -done no 'arm." - -"But what is the cause of all this?" - -"All what?" demanded the escort, with a touch of wonder. - -"All this damage," explained the doctor patiently. "Has he been -fighting?" - -"Lord bless ye, no, sir!" whispered the escort, hoarse with horror. -"'_E_ ain't been fightin'. Bill Dawkins is a gentleman!" - -"Then," cried the doctor, at last permitting himself to show heat, "who -in the devil's name has been mutilating him?" - -The escort looked blank. "Mutinate--mutinate," he repeated -thoughtfully. "I ain't 'eard about that, sir." - -The doctor sighed, and soaked some dressing. "Could you think -carefully," he then suggested, "and tell me how he came to meet this -trouble?" - -"What trouble?" murmured the escort. He put his head on one side and -opened his mouth, and his resemblance to an inquisitive owl was -pathetic. "What trouble do you mean, sir?" - -"_This_," cried the frenzied gentleman, pointing wildly to Mr. Dawkins's -wounds. - -"'Is _'ead_, do ye mean, sir?" demanded the escort.... "O-o-o-h! -_That_ don't matter, sir.... _It's 'is birthday_." - -"Oh," said the doctor, applying stitches, "I see. A celebration?" - -"On'y his birthday, sir: just a plain birthday. 'E's thirty-two to-day, -ole Bill is. It's 'is birthday, see?" - -The doctor did see, and he stitched away emphatically. Mr. Dawkins left -off singing. And when the repairs had been completed, it appeared that -their influence had extended far beyond the damaged forehead. Mr. -Dawkins sat up in his chair a sober man. - -"Cheer up, Bill!" exhorted his bodyguard in chorus. - -"I am cheered up," responded William, with a November edition of the -smile. "My name is Dawkins. On'y--on'y me nose itches. Got 'ny biceps, -Doctor?" - -"Eh? What?" snapped the doctor. - -"Biceps, ole love. For pullin' teeth. My name is William Dawkins, and -when I does a job I does it thorough. What's the good o' makin' two -journeys if you can do yere business in one? Ain't that logic? Of -course it is. My name is Dawkins. So fetch out the biceps, Doctor. -You'll find 'im back there on the right 'and side, sittin' by 'isself in -the pit, a ugly, lop-sided sot 'e is, with a 'ole in 'is middle. Fetch -out the biceps." - -"Do you really want your tooth out?" asked the doctor doubtfully. -"You've lost a lot of blood, you know. Don't--don't you think perhaps -that at some future----" - -Mr. Dawkins rose up from his seat. "My name is Dawkins," he said -simply, "and I've ordered one biceps. If you don't like the contrac', -Doctor, there's many another bloke 'll be glad of my custom. Don't make -no trouble, Doctor. I'm a friendly bloke. But me name is Dawkins. I -likes to soot me fancy. I got a fancy for to shift this tooth. Me and -this tooth we don't soot each other. I get a fancy sometimes, too, as -I'll have me leg took off, because----" - -"About this tooth, now," said the doctor, with haste; "I'm ready when -you are." - -Mr. Dawkins, to whom the clean white bandages about his head imparted an -air of weakness and infirmity, replied with a stave or two from a -patriotic ballad, and then seated himself in a chair. The tooth was -removed. - -Mr. Dawkins then examined the doctor's forceps and apostrophised the -trophy which they still held. "Ache away, ye beggar!" he exclaimed. -"Who's laughin' now? ... What I got to pay you, Doctor?" - -"One shilling altogether," replied the doctor. - -Mr. Dawkins flung down half-a-crown. - -"Take it out of that," he cried. "I never paid a bob more 'earty. Nor -I never met a genelman as was nicer spoken nor 'andier. And when I make -me mind up in regards to this leg I'll bring it round to you. Me and my -family is noted for our limbs. There's a uncle o' mine what 'ad a bone -took out o' 'is ankle what they keeps in a bottle at Guy's 'Orspital to -this day. Comin' out to 'ave one, Doctor? It's my birthday." - -The doctor regretted that professional engagements previously entered -into prevented him from accepting the very kind invitation of Mr. -Dawkins. He also handed that gentleman his change and a small packet of -tissue-paper which contained the tooth--the latter offertory being based -upon an immemorial custom of the spot-cash trade. - -And Mr. Dawkins expressed his gratitude in song, and Mr. Dawkins's -bodyguard assisted in the swelling chorus thereof. And as Doctor Brink -shook hands with each in turn and received their oft-repeated praises, -he returned to the question which was still unanswered. - -"How _did_ that head get cracked, Mr. Dawkins? A slight dispute, eh?" - -"Dispute!" echoed Mr. Dawkins. "Me? On me birthday? Why I bin sittin' -in the 'Four Soldiers' as gentle as a clurk from two o'clock this -arternoon. Ain't that right, mates?" - -"Certainly. What 'e's tellin' you is right, sir," confirmed the -bodyguard. - -"Not even a friendly spar?" queried the puzzled doctor. - -"It's me birthday, I tell you," reiterated Mr. Dawkins. "And I bin -sittin' like a corpse in the 'Four Soldiers.' First time I bin in there -for four months, and----" - -"How did your head get cracked, then?" - -"That," said Mr. Dawkins, with dignity, "is what I was goin' to explain, -old bird. There's a Scotchman got the 'Soldiers' now, you see, and 'e's -a iggerant swine, and---- They've moved the blessed step!" - - - - - *XXXVII* - - *THE MORAL SENSE* - - -"Good morning, Mrs. Budd," said Doctor Brink, meeting that lady in his -waiting-room. "I suppose you've called round for the medicine." - -"Well, sir," responded Mrs. Budd, turning up a red nose and two very -swollen eyes, "I 'ave and I 'aven't. Could I see you privit?" - -Doctor Brink led the way into the consulting-room and lit a pipe, at the -same time inviting Mrs. Budd to "let us have it!" - -"Now then, Mrs. Budd, let's have it!" - -Mrs. Budd began to cry. - -"That isn't what I asked for," explained the doctor. - -"I--I 'ardly know 'ow to--to tell you," sobbed Mrs. Budd. "It's so -disgraceful." - -"I am always hearing disgraceful things," the doctor said. "You needn't -consider my feelings: they are hardened." - -"Well, Doctor," exclaimed Mrs. Budd, "the truth is that what I 'ad -yisterday and the Dark Brown to-day makes eighteenpence and I can't pay -you. And----" - -"And?" repeated the doctor sternly. - -"And--and--I 'ardly know 'ow to tell you, Doctor: it is sich a -disgraceful thing--my man has stole a 'am and a policeman come for 'im -and they have locked him up." - -"I will book the eighteenpence," said Doctor Brink. - -"Thank you, Doctor: you are a gentleman," said Mrs. Budd. - -"Take a chair, ma'am," said Doctor Brink. - -"Not at all, sir," said Mrs. Budd.... "I don't know what you'll think of -us, I'm sure I don't. And 'im so respectable up to now." - -"How did it happen?" inquired the Doctor. - -"Well," said Mrs. Budd, "I don't exactly know the ins and outs of it; -but 'e see the 'am in Mr. Biggs's shop and Mr. Biggs was spinning -shillings with another gentleman, what was a Guardian same as 'isself, -and Mr. Biggs's back was turned and Mine 'e see the 'am and took it." - -"The devil!" exclaimed Doctor Brink. - -"Yes," assented Mrs. Budd. "And 'im ben allus so respectable. And mind -you, Doctor--I will say this for 'im: I don't believe it would 'ave -'appened only for the little gel bein' so porely. I told 'im what you -said about givin' 'er nourishing food, and 'e seems, as you might say, -to 'ave got it on the brain. The job what 'e went after yesterday -morning, 'e never got it after all; and in the evening 'e took this -'am." - -"Ha!" exclaimed the doctor. - -"I'm sure we all agree with you," said Mrs. Budd. "'Im to 'ave bin a -uniformed porter for all these years and now to turn thief." - -"The Ingrate," observed my friend. "How is it that he has ceased to wear -the uniform of a porter?" - -"Well, sir, you see, sir," explained his patient, "the company's trade -been so bad they was forced to reduce. Mine, 'e on'y went with the last -'underd, and if he'd been a younger man they would 'a kep' him on. They -give 'im a splendid reference; and now--if it wasn't for the children, -Doctor, I could do away with meself, to think 'e should so disgrace -'isself. It was a big 'am, sir; they say 'e will get three months. But -if any gentleman, same as you, sir, was to say a word for 'im, perhaps -they would make it lighter. It won't do away with the disgrace, sir; -but perhaps it would come easier for Budd. Though I'm sure 'e don't -deserve no pity." - -"I should think not," assented Doctor Brink. "After being a uniformed -porter for all those years. And a _big_ ham, too." - -"And the best quality, also," said Mrs. Budd. - -"And from a Poor Law Guardian," added Doctor Brink. - -"They tell me," continued Mrs. Budd, "that he never orfered no -resistance. I 'ope you will think of that, Doctor, when you are -considering it over. - -"'Is father was an ironmonger, once, in a good way of business; but he -took to drink and women, and the 'ome was broke up. Mine, 'e had to go -out and shift for 'isself as a lad of twelve. It's no excuse for -stealin' 'ams, of course; but--you never know. Perhaps this wouldn't -never 'ave 'appened if 'is bringin' up was different. 'E's allus bin a -sober man 'isself; but when a person is brought up rough it is bound to -show itself some'ow. - -"I am sorry to say we eat the 'am; for 'e brought it 'ome and never said -nothing to nobody, and we was all of us glad of the food. The little -girl, she _did_ enjoy it, pore lamb. She don't know now but what it was -honest meat. - -"They come and fetched 'im away from 'ome this morning when I was out to -sell some bottles. I 'ardly like to tell the children, for they won't -'ardly believe that their pore dad could be so wicked; only I s'pose the -neighbours will tell 'em, if I don't. The neighbours is so friendly with -my children. - -"It's a shameful thing for a man to do: to turn thief at 'is age and -bring disgrace on everybody." - -"Damned shameful," said the doctor. - -"I often wonder," Mrs. Budd ran on, "whether that dizziness what you -treated 'im for is at the back of all this. 'E _'as_ seemed a little -strange since then; not much different, you know; only a little altered, -same as anybody wouldn't notice except they was about with him a lot, -like I am. _Something_ must 'ave 'appened, don't you think, Doctor, to -make a respectable man like 'e was turn thief?" - -"The dizziness may have been indirectly connected with it," admitted the -doctor. "He was suffering from a complaint which doctors call -malnutrition." - -"He has sent a message," stated Mrs. Budd, "to say he hopes I won't -think none the worse of him. He says he knows he has done wrong----" - -The doctor interrupted her with a profane exclamation. - -"I beg your pardon, sir?" said Mrs. Budd. - -"I say," said the doctor, "that this surprises me." - -"Oh," cried Mrs. Budd, "'e ain't what anybody would call a bad man at -'eart; really 'e ain't, sir. 'Tis something strange what's come over -'im as made 'im turn thief. I was tellin' you, Doctor, about this -message. I sent one back to say I will think it over. - -"'I can forgive,' I says, 'but I can't forget.' I mean to stand by 'im, -really, if it's only for the children's sake. - -"Besides, he ain't never treated me so bad--considering. He ain't -always bin a thief. And he knows he had done wrong. He admits that, -Doctor. Perhaps he'll try to do better in future. Don't you think so?" - -"I can think anything of these thieves," said Doctor Brink. - -"Yes," murmured Mrs. Budd.... "I admit 'e don't deserve no pity." - -"And he 'knows he has done wrong'!" repeated the doctor. - -"Oh, yes, sir," said Mrs. Budd. - -"And he's utterly shocked at and sick with himself?" - -"He's very low-sperited and shamefaced, Doctor. He knows he has done -wrong-" - -"Then," said Doctor Brink, "I'll give you a letter to the Vicar.... The -Vicar, I'm sure, will help. Personally I think that your husband and -all his social equals ought to be locked up for ever. But the Vicar, -I'm sure, will be charmed to help." - -"Thank you, Doctor," murmured Mrs. Budd. "I'm sure he don't deserve your -kindness; but he knows he----" - -"Here's your letter," stated Doctor Brink. "If you stop here any longer -I shall choke you. Go away." - -And, looking very puzzled, Mrs. Budd departed. - - - - - *XXXVIII* - - *LOVE AND HATE* - - -The Hon. Mrs. Strudwicke-Moses came to tea with Doctor Brink the other -day, your servant being in attendance. The Hon. Mrs. Strudwicke-Moses -derives from beer; but she has a reputation for benevolence, wisdom, and -the party virtues which is envied even by cocoa. - -Doctor Brink, finding the minutes between "calls" hang heavy on his -hands, has devoted them of late to organising a sort of small relief -fund, from which he provides the most thriftless and improvident and -least meritorious of his patients with milk and coal and flour. - -"It is rank charity, of course," the doctor has had grace to -admit--"charity of the filthiest description. But we do flatter -ourselves that our little effort is free from the deadly sin of -'overlapping.' There isn't a really deserving case on our list." - -The Hon. Mrs. Strudwicke-Moses had received an early invitation to -assist this fund, and had lost no time in doing so, the doctor having -intimated that cocoa had also competed. And now the honourable lady was -come to take tea. - -"I cannot tell you," she said, "how much I admire the quiet, -unostentatious, truly Christian heroism of you East End doctors. It may -truly be said of you that you give your all." - -"How so?" inquired the doctor. - -"Well, look at you!" responded Mrs. Strudwicke-Moses. "Here you are, in -voluntary exile, living amid filth and squalor, denying yourself every -luxury, even that of fresh air, in order to devote yourself to -alleviating the sufferings of our neglected poor." - -"You flatter me," the doctor said. - -"Not at all," responded his visitor. "Compare yourself with any even of -our most eminent philanthropists. They only supply the poor with -money--they merely give of their abundance. Now you, and men like you -(pardon my mentioning it, but I cannot help pointing this out to you) -you give _yourselves_. You actually see and touch the poor things, even -the most unpleasant of them." - -"That's true," admitted Doctor Brink, with the respectful air of one who -has been introduced to a new and important truth. "But," he added, "they -jolly well pay me for it." - -The lady made a pretty sign of disagreement. "You cannot make me -believe," she said, "that men like you are actuated by thoughts of gain. -It is the cry of suffering which brings you here." - -"That's true, madam," assented the doctor. "A cry of suffering which -emanated from a bank. As for the pay question, I may assure you that I -attach the very greatest importance to their sixpences. You see, there -is a clear profit--medicine and bottle included--of fivepence farthing -on every one of them, even the most unpleasant. I am saving up, you -know, to buy a property--some pleasantly situated place in Scotland with -a trout-stream. I have lived on animals all my life, and I want to try -fish for a change." - -"You are making fun of me, Doctor," demurred the lady. - -"Really," protested Doctor Brink, "I was never more serious in my life. -I am saving money here at the rate of six hundred a year, and living -well into the bargain. Which reminds me to apologise for keeping my -foot up in your presence. I've got gout rather badly--the result of -Burgundy. I drink a good brand, but I drink it to excess. Suffering -humanity pays for that, you know. The silly idiots crowd in here by the -hundred, bringing bottles which I fill with a weak solution of -picric-acid and water. For this service they pay me sixpence and go -away, believing themselves cured. It is one of the simplest methods of -acquiring trout-streams which has ever been invented." - -"I don't believe you, Doctor," asserted the lady. "Men like you, if -money is their only thought, can get it by easier means than coming out -here to rob the poor poor." - -"I could rob the poor in a pleasanter neighbourhood, of course," -admitted Doctor Brink. "But then, you see, the living here is -cheap--one economises even on the Burgundy--and I'm saving up to buy a -trout-stream." - -"At any rate," protested Mrs. Strudwicke-Moses, "you like the dear -creatures and feel sorry for their unfortunate poverty. Now don't you, -Doctor?" - -"Are you suggesting, madam, that I pity the poor?" - -"Of course you do," cried Mrs. Strudwicke-Moses. - -My friend, with an effort, sat up on his couch. - -"My dear lady," he said, "I am a thoughtful and unusually intelligent -man of forty, and the only thing which I have ever pitied in all my life -was a parrot in a cage. But as for these hungry and verminous creatures -who are saving up for my trout-stream, I have never ceased to hate and -despise them." - -"But why?" exclaimed the Hon. Mrs. Strudwicke-Moses, who, by this time, -was seriously alarmed. - -"For the same reason which causes you to despise them," explained the -doctor. - -"But," protested Mrs. Strudwicke-Moses, "I love the dear things! They -are so unfortunate." - -"I believe," declared the doctor, "that our feeling is identical; but, -even to oblige a lady, I cannot call it love. - -"When," he continued, "a large number of stout men are pleased to starve -and shiver for no other reason than that I desire a trout-stream, I -consider them to be worthy neither of love nor pity. I consider them to -deserve what may be termed a helping foot, and when they have paid for -my trout-stream I shall jolly well see that they get it." - -Said the Hon. Mrs. Strudwicke-Moses, as she rose to her feet-- - -"I must confess, Doctor, that your bitterness surprises me. I can't -think how anybody _could_ feel angry with the poor dear things. For my -part," she added, arranging her furs, "I love them. They are so -unfortunate!" - - - - - *XXXIX* - - *ON A DEAD POLICEMAN* - - -A small blue document reached the doctor recently. I don't remember -exactly what words it contained; but there were references to God and -the King and certain commands and threats thereto pertaining. And late -that same night the doctor, looking wistfully upon a large bottle of -claret, uttered these words-- - -"That's a deuced good wine, that is, and I'm dog-tired, damme, and it's -a dog's night, dammit. But I've got to hustle out into the thick of it, -and do two 'midders' and a damnable post-mortem. You'd better come -along." - -I went along--not exactly because I wanted to, but because my better -nature told me that I could drink the doctor's claret with more decency -when claret-time came round if I had first earned my share. "But," said -I to the doctor, "I will thank you to take notice that I have no -intention whatever of watching you perform post-mortems." - -"I don't perform post-mortems," replied my host. "This is one of the -little matters which we 'arrange.'" - -Knowing that this mysterious statement was one which time itself would -explain, I did not ask any questions, but put on my boots instead, and -we walked out into the murk and slosh, and the doctor went into two -pig-styes and ushered in two lives, and I stood in two doorways and -caught two colds. - -And then we pursued the darkling ways until they ended in a red brick -mansion with art-metal fittings, one of which we pulled with such effect -that dogs began to bark at every hand, and a window was violently -opened, and a heavy voice, high up, said, "All _right_!" very gruffly. - -"That is George," remarked the doctor cheerfully. "George will have to -slip his trousers on and come downstairs and be useful." - -"George," I ventured to remark, "inhabits a very fine house." - -"Yes," replied the doctor, "he occupies a pleasant flat. So well -placed. He is within a stone's throw of his own mortuary, as I daresay -you have observed." - -"Then George----" I began. - -"Is the official guardian of our English dead. His technical skill is -profound. He was a porter at St. Giles's for ten years, you see. Ah! -Ha! Here _is_ George." - -There was a grating of bolts behind the big oak gate at which we stood, -and a little wicket which was set within the same came slowly open to -disclose an ox-like bulk which growled out some inquiry. The doctor, -ignoring this presence, stepped daintily through the wicket, and I -followed. I then perceived that we were standing in a courtyard, neatly -paved, and having large, neat buildings upon every side. The doctor, -jerking his umbrella towards each of these natural objects in turn, -spoke as with the mouth of a guide. - -"Coroner's court is on your right," he said; "mortuary chamber straight -in front; post-mortem chamber slightly to the left; coroner's private -office still more to left; jury room just here; apartment for storing -coffins just there; stairway opposite leads to George's private -chambers; dark object there is kennel, containing George's private dog; -dark object here is George. How are you, George?" - -The dark object referred to came closer, accompanied by a very small -candle in a very large lamp, which it held up to the doctor's face, at -the same time exhibiting its own, which was ox-like in character. "It's -_you_," said the voice of the object at last. "I thought it might be -somebody as was deceivin' theirself into playin' a lark on me. 'Ow are -you, Doctor?" - -At this the doctor and George shook hands with a great display of -warmth, and George set down his lantern and produced a pipe, and slowly -filled it, and slowly lighted it. "I thought it funny," he then -remarked, between slow puffs, "as anybody should deceive theirselves -into playing a lark on _me_. What is it to-night, Doctor?" - -"Gregory the name is," replied my friend. "Inquest at ten o'clock -to-morrow. I'm sorry to have you out at this time of night, but I -couldn't possibly get round earlier." - -"Not a word, Doctor," responded George, as he shook the raindrops from -his cap. "This ain't the latest p.m. I done by many. Let me see -now--Gregory? It'll be that middle-aged job from Wallflower Street, -what? Come in this arternoon. What?" - -"That's the case," responded Dr. Brink. - -"Then," said George, "I'm ready when you are, Doctor. What do you -suspect?" - -He moved off up the yard, the doctor following. - -"_I'll_ wait here," said your servant. - -"That's right," assented the doctor. "I'm not going farther than the -doorway myself." - -"Gentleman's welcome for my part," intimated George. For which the -doctor thanked him. - -"But," he said, "I don't think that my friend cares much for -post-mortems." - -"Oh!" reflected George. "There's lots like that in these days. I puts -it down to them street preachers. If you'll wait there 'arf a minnit, -Doctor, I'll just switch on the lights." - -With these words the pleasant fellow entered into an adjacent building, -which presently became illuminated. I could see the shadow of his form -upon the ground-glass windows (which were spacious) as he busied himself -with some congenial task upon the other side. - -"You'll be all right out here, I suppose?" inquired the doctor kindly, -while we waited for the reappearance of George. "I shan't be long, you -know. George is very quick. He knows exactly what I want." - -"Who is the poor chap?" I inquired. - -"I suppose you'd call him the mortuary attendant," said the doctor. -"He's really very skilful." - -"I was alluding," I explained, "to the other poor chap: to him who is to -be the subject of this accomplished gentleman's skill." - -"Oh," said the doctor. "Now let me see.... What did the widow tell me? -Ah, I remember now. He was a retired policeman. And there's George -beckoning to me. I shan't be long." - -The doctor took his stand within the open doorway through which George -had entered. And I took my stand in the rain, and watched the doctor's -back and the shadow of George falling upon the ground-glass window-pane -as he busied himself with congenial tasks. - -Now and then the doctor would address some speech to George and stick -his head a little farther round the door-post, and the shadow of George -would draw, as it were, a little closer to the window-pane. - -And after a certain time--a long time, it seemed to me--the light went -out, and George and the doctor came forth, and George received five -shillings and bowed us politely out. He also spat and uttered a parting -_mot_. Said George-- - -"He liked his little drop, Doctor--what?" - - - - - *XL* - - *MRS. GLUCKSTEIN* - - -It was one of those dull, dishonest days which open with a promise of -rain and keep on promising all the time. The mothers and aunts in -Doctor Brink's dispensary sat in couples, brooding silently. - -Now and then, at long intervals, somebody would express herself in a -rich, resentful snuffle or a limp oath; but, generally speaking, one -just sat still and got damper. And those ladies who by virtue of -seniority were from time to time admitted into the consulting-room -carried their langour with them. Their fringes were straight and sticky, -and they knew it, and hope had departed from them. They propped -themselves up just anywhere, and slid their empty medicine-bottles out -of one wet hand into another wet hand, and breathed hard, and pitied -themselves, allowing the doctor to smile briskly and talk. - -By the time that closing time drew near the doctor himself was beginning -to feel the heat, and we began to wonder whether anything would happen -to _his_ fringe. - -But Mrs. Isodore Gluckstein came in, and refreshed him. - -Mrs. Gluckstein had four chins and a comprehensive bust, and no visible -waist-line, and she moved with difficulty; but Mrs. Gluckstein had -within her certain fires which were, as it might be, of the spirit, and -burned, so to speak, with fierceness, and kept things moving. They -re-curled the doctor's fringe for him. Said Mrs. Gluckstein-- - -"I vant you to eggshammun me, young men. I gut low-spirited." - -"Will you show me your tongue, please?" said the doctor pleasantly. But -said Mrs. Gluckstein: "Rubbutch! - -"Rubbutch!" she repeated. "Vat you vanter see me tongue for? Do I keep -me spirits on me tongue, then? I gut low spirits, I tell you, and the -indigistions. Vat I vant is a Noirve Tunnuk. Ain't you gut none?" - -"I can give you a nerve tonic, of course," assented the doctor. "But -don't you think I'd better go through the form of making sure that you -need it?" - -"But," protested Mrs. Gluckstein, "I _told_ you det I vant id. I gut -low spirits. You're a proper, edugatud, respectable duckter, ain't you? -Can't you see vat I gut?" - -"If you could make it convenient," said the doctor, "to discuss your -symptoms, I----" - -"Symptums!" echoed Mrs. Gluckstein. "I ain'd gut no symptums. I gut low -spirits. It's so simple. And I gut the indigistions--shocking! Vat I -reely vant is dem Nelson's Noirve Beans. You know dem, Duckter--vat?" - -"I have read about them--in the papers. You 'Try one in your teacup,' -don't you?" - -"Det's right, Duckter," assented Mrs. Gluckstein. "Dem Nelson's Noirve -Beans is vat I reely vant. I gut der same exact sickness vat dey make -'em for: low spirits and indigistions. It's a fine ding dis Nelson's -Noirve Beans: vat, Duckter?" - -"I don't think I should place _great_ faith in them if I were you. -They're made to cure so many things at once, you see." - -"De babers dalks vell about 'em." - -"They write those talks themselves, you know. The papers get paid for -printing them." - -Mrs. Gluckstein raised a chubby hand and pushed this argument away from -her. "I gant 'elp vedder der babers is baid or nut," she said, "dem -Nelson's Noirve Beans is a good medsun. Everybody knows id. - -"I arst der boy in der chimmis shup 'smornin', and 'e tole me, 'e seth: -'Ve sells a lut of 'em', 'e seth. 'E vould 'a' said more, Duckter, but -I don't believe dey likes to thell 'em you. It ain'd der _good_ dings -vat brings yer in der brufit. You notice dat in _your_ business--vat, -Duckter?" - -The doctor looked at his watch. "Then you'd like me to give you a nerve -tonic, Mrs. Gluckstein. Very well. We'll see if we can't manage to -rival Mr. Nelson's Nerve Beans." - -Mrs. Gluckstein pushed _this_ statement away with both hands. - -"You'll do your best, no doubt, Duckter," she said; "but I dink dem -Nelson's Beans is vat I reely vant. And Mr. Gluckstein (God bless 'im; -long life to 'im) 'e dinks 'id too. But dey cust a lut o' money, -Duckter, dem Nelson's Noirve Beans. A shillin' a bux I dink it is dey -cust. And Mr. Gluckstein (may he walk in blessedness) he is a vise man. - -"'Shall ve slay the ox' 'e seth, 'ven der sheep custs not so dear?' He -dinks the same as me det it is good medsun, dis Nelson's Noirve Beans; -'is own mudder (may she live to be ninety) vas cured from going blind by -dem. - -"But ve seth to vun annudder, ve seth, 'a shillin' is dear for a -medsun.' So Mr. Gluckstein (may the Lord be friends vid 'im) 'e -consulted vid me, saying--- - -"'Never mind about dem Noirve Beans for de dime bein',' 'e seth. 'You -ain'd so bad enough, in der meandime,' he seth. 'Ve'll try der duckter -_foirst_,' he seth." - - - - - *XLI* - - *OF HUMAN KINDNESS* - - -"Whether my name is Donovan or whether it's Smith, I do not wish to be -be'olding to them, Doctor; I do not want their blasted milk. That is -the long and short of it." - -Applying my eye with feverish haste to the squint-hole, I perceived that -she who uttered these proud sentiments was young and not ill-favoured, -having red hair and freckles and a "Hands off" expression. "That," she -repeated, "is the long and the short of it--if you can call it milk at -all! They buy it from ole Tompkins." - -"Well," said the doctor, feeling, evidently, that he was called upon to -say _something_, "well, Mrs. Donovan----" - -"One minit, Doctor," interpolated his visitor, "it is Wilson now, if you -please, Doctor. Donovan was our name when we lived in Beddoes Street." - -The doctor uttered an apology and began again. "Well, Mrs. Wilson, -I----" - -But the visitor again checked him. "Of course, Doctor," said the lady, -"you will understand that _she_ don't know me by the name of Wilson. I -am still Mrs. Bannister to 'er, same as I was in the ole days, when she -got me to sign the pledge. Pledge, indeed! Fudge, _I_ call it. Did -ever you 'ear of a thing so silly, Doctor? Me not turned eighteen at -the time, and to make me sign a paper about never touching nothing for -the rest of me life. And she calls 'erself a lady. With 'er airs an' -graces, an' 'er two pennorth o' milk an' what not! I've broke the -blessed thing a 'undred times, that is one comfort. - -"The joke of it is, Doctor, that they almost force you to take their -blessed milk. Is it right, I arst you, Doctor, that a person is forced -to be beholding to another person for such a trivial thing as milk -because they 'appen to be sister to the vicar? You understand my -meaning, don't you?" - -"Perfectly," assented Doctor Brink. - -"You know yesself 'ow ill I been, Doctor. Well, then, she come round to -my place every day, she did, with 'er little notebook and 'er -gold-rimmed eye glasses, and what not, and she says to me, she says:-- - -"'I didn't ought to be visiting you at all, not be rights,' she says; -'but you was a good girl once,' she says, 'one of my very favourite -girls once,' she says, 'though you _'ave_ made mock of your solemn -pledge,' she says, 'and I thought I must come round,' she says, 'for old -times' sake, and ask you what you mean be wastin' money on doctors,' she -says. - -"'It's me own money,' I says. - -"'Never mind 'oose money it is," says she, 'you ain't got enough of it -to go an' waste on doctors when the Church 'as got a beautiful sick club -and a free dispensary all kindly arranged for you. Sich extravagance!' -says she. 'And now, I suppose, you'll expect us to give you some milk -tickets.' - -"Did ever you 'ear the like of it, Doctor? - -"'I ain't never arst you for no milk tickets,' I says; 'I ain't never -arst you for nothing. Me 'usband is in work, and I kin buy me own milk, -and I kin buy me own doctorin'.' - -"'It's a disgrace,' she says. 'If the vicar was to 'ear of it 'e would -be furious,' she says. - -"'Then I shouldn't tell 'im, miss,' says I. - -"'Why?' she says. - -"'Because,' I says, 'it isn't a sister's place to put 'er brother into -tempers.' - -"She raised 'er forrid at me. 'You seem to forgit,' says she, 'as you -are talkin' to a lady.' - -"'Quite right,' I answers, 'so I did.' - -"She looks at me solemn for a little while, and then she says, in a sort -o' 'lift-'im-gently' voice, she says, 'I suppose we shall 'ave to let -you 'ave some milk tickets. I will talk to Miss Perkins,' she says. - -"'But, if you please, miss,' I tells 'er, 'I don't _want_ any milk -tickets. I got as much milk to drink as ever I want.' - -"'Nonsense!' she says. 'I will talk to Miss Perkins. A pore woman like -you are didn't oughter be 'ere at all. You oughter be in the infirmary -gettin' proper attention, instead o' wasting money on doctors.' - -"'But my man is in work,' I tells 'er once more. I rubbed in that point -'cause I thought per'aps she was ignorant about it--'im goin' to work -under the name of Rogers. But it didn't satisfy 'er, bless you. - -"'Your 'usband 'avin' work 'as got nothink to do wiv it,' she says. -'All the more reason,' she says, 'for you to save the money while it is -comin' in,' she says. 'Your Doctor Brinks, indeed! What's the good of -us Church people gettin' up all these kind things for you if you go an' -get ill in this 'igh-stepping fashion,' says she, 'with your private -medicine and your private doctors? Wasting your husband's money.' - -"'E don't complain,' I says. ''E likes me to be independent.' - -"'Nonsense!' she says. 'The idea! People in your position can't afford -to be independent. What you working people are coming to is really -remarkable,' she says. 'Ere's me an' the vicar, an' Miss Perkins, and -the 'ole Church workin' 'ard for you all day long, and all the reward we -get is a lot of impertinent talk about independence! 'Owever,' she -says, 'I'll see as you get the milk.' - -"'But,' I tells 'er fur the twentieth time, 'I don't want no milk.' - -"'Fiddlesticks!' says she; 'I'll talk to Miss Perkins. You kin 'ave a -pint a day for a fortnight.' - -"'On'y,' I says, 'I don't _want_ no milk.' - -"'My good woman,' says she, 'you don't know what you want. Nor it ain't -your place to know. Your place is to take what's given you an' be -respectful. Next time you see your Doctor Brink, you kin tell 'im I -told you so.'" - - * * * * * - -"So that," pursued the visitor, "is what I mean, Doctor, when I say be -damned to 'er blarsted milk. Do you follow my meaning?" - -"Perfectly," said the doctor again, as he grasped the rebel's hand. -"Perfectly, Mrs. Donovan." - -"Mrs. Wilson, if you please, Doctor," corrected the lady. - -The doctor offered many apologies. "I believe," he said reflectively, -"that you are Mrs. Bannister to _her_?" - -"That's right," assented his patient. - -"Ah!" murmured Doctor Brink, "I will write to her and acknowledge her -kind message. Be gad I will. Yes. Ah! I--I--begad, yes. Ha! H'm! -... And now, Mrs. Ban----Mrs. Wilson, what is this about the certificate -for the insurance company?" - -"Oh, yes," said Mrs. Wilson. "Will you oblige me, Doctor, be makin' it -out in the name of Banks?" - - - - - *XLII* - - *THE LAST* - - -"It's true then?" I inquired. - -"Oh, yes," responded James--"quite true. Fatty's got a person coming to -see him this afternoon about buying the practice." - -"I suppose it's no use asking, 'Why all this?'" - -"Well," admitted James, "you know it's against our principles in this -household to give reasons. But seeing that it's you--the truth is that -Fatty isn't going to stick it any longer, because he says he'll be -damned if he does stick it any longer. He says he's going to start a -pottery and kill them quicker." - -"_You_ don't seem so tremendously jubilant as I was led to expect." - -"No-o," replied James. "The idea was rather exciting at first. But -I've been walking about to-day telling everybody the news; and, really, -people have been so awfully kind. Mrs. Bernstein--where they make the -old furniture, you know--actually cried and gave me a salted cucumber; -and her brother, who is our fish man, says he's sending round a -hat--why, I don't know--besides a small plaice which came this morning. -And dear old Mr. Grimsdick, the grocer, got very excited indeed, and he -says it isn't to be heard of, and he's coming round to stop it. And Mrs. -Bolt, where we buy our coal, she said, 'Lord-love-a-duck,' she said, -'what next? You tell your father to stop where he is. You tell him he -suits us very well. We don't want none of your educated gentlemen in -Bovingdon Street.' - -"Besides," continued James, "there's Baffin. What are we to do about -Baffin? We can't sell Baffin with the practice. And what's to become of -him? _We_ all know that he's a genius, but nobody else has found it out -yet, and so he hasn't got much money. Think of all his pictures stuck to -the washhouse wall! Fatty says they'll be worth thousands one day; but -they won't come off the walls, and if we leave them there somebody else -will steal the money. And there are all his clothes. Baffin has been -collecting clothes for years, and these are all in the -washhouse--_somewhere_. I really don't----" - -James's reflections were interrupted by the sudden opening of the door, -which admitted a strange young gentleman into our presence. He was -followed by Doctor Brink himself. - -"This," said the latter gentleman, "is Mr. Reginald Cavendish, who has -come to inquire about the practice. He is charmed with the situation of -the house, my dear." - -"What I mean to say," explained Reginald, having made his bows, "is that -you've got so many windows, and such decent rooms. One doesn't expect -that sort of thing in the East End. My pater will be quite pleased. -It's my pater who's going to buy this practice for me, you know. I'm -studying law, you know--goin' in for this medico-legal game--and my -pater thinks this'd be a good thing to amuse myself with until I'm -through. It's all cash, you say, Doctor.... Ah! Well, it saves a lot -of fag, book-keepin', an' that--what? Not exactly what you might term -'classy,' but--you needn't tell people, eh? Who's to know--what? - -"Of course," continued Mr. Cavendish, as if in answer to an imaginary -objector, "the patients do smell, I suppose. But a chap could have a -change here. A sort of professional uniform--what? Ha! Ha! This place -all right for gettin' about, Doctor? Easy reach of the West End and all -that sort of thing?" - -"We are served by two railways," responded Doctor Brink, "besides a -tramline. And there are cabs at the London Hospital." - -"No motor-buses, then--what? _No motor-buses_?" - -Doctor Brink was able to assure his visitor that the boon of the -motor-bus would not be absent from that gentleman's future joys. - -The cloud which had sombred Mr. Cavendish's features immediately gave -place to a smile. - -"Good business," he cried. "Whenever a chap gets too awfully fed up -with it, then, he can nip on to something or other and have a night at -the Pav.--what? Besides," added Mr. Cavendish, "a chap can put up with -a lot for twelve hundred a year. That's what it's doing, you say?" - -"That's what _I'm_ doing," replied Doctor Brink. "But then," he -explained, with a mild expression, "I haven't tried the effect of -running the practice from the Pav." - -"Oh, quite," assented Mr. Cavendish. "What I mean to say is, of course -not. But when I take over the practice, I shall run an assistant: one of -those middle-aged Scotch chaps, you know, with a turn-down collar. A -chap can afford to have one of those beggars if he's doing twelve -hundred--especially when he's a bachelor--what? Ha! Ha! ... I shall let -my assistant do most of the night-work and the confinements, and all -that sort of thing. I'm a consulting-room man, really." - -The other practitioner merely smiled. "I suppose," continued Mr. -Cavendish, "that you don't give these beggars anything very special in -the way of drugs. No elaborate gout cures--what? Ha! Ha!" - -"It's a faith-cure practice almost entirely," replied the doctor, -winking at your servant. - -"Oh," said Mr. Cavendish, a little coldly. "Of course, I should run the -show on dignified lines. They'll have everything in reason. I shall do -my own dispensing. You can be sure that they get the right stuff -then--what?" - -Again the doctor merely smiled. - -"And now," said Mr. Cavendish, rising from his chair, "I shall have to -clear out. Got to dine with a couple of chaps at some beastly club. I -think this will suit me very well, Doctor; just the thing I've been -looking for--a quiet, steady practice to keep a chap goin' while he's -reading for these rotten law exams. You'll hear from my pater, I -expect. Of course, your price is pretty stiff, but I'll tell my father -what I think about the show, and no doubt he'll consider it. So long, -Doctor." - -"So long," said Doctor Brink, and James, and I. - -"And now," said Doctor Brink, as he reached for a long glass, "supposing -_we_ consider it?" - -"I _have_ considered it," said James. "We are going to stop." - -"Why?" exclaimed the doctor. - -"Because," replied James, "it is too awful to think of a person like -that being let loose on everybody." - -"A person!" echoed the doctor. "My dear girl, that was an awfully -educated young man. He's an M.B.! and he's going to run the practice on -dignified lines. What more can the beggars ask for their sixpences than -real drugs and dignity?" - -"Fatty," said his daughter, in a voice of cold resolve, "if you take me -away from here, do you know what I shall do? I shall live with Aunt -Isobel and go to school, and grow up to be a little lady." - -"Ha!" cried the doctor, starting up.... "I'd forgotten you. Bring out -the Burgundy.... We'll consider it." - - - - - THE END - - - - - * * * * * * * * - - - - - _*BY THE SAME AUTHOR*_ - - - *KITCHENER CHAPS* - - _Crown 8vo. 2s. net_ - - -"These little sketches are humorous, loving, and manifestly -genuine."--_Spectator_. - -"Mr. Neil Lyons writes as the friend and observer of the New Army; ... -is a master of cockney humour.... There are other soldiers in his book, -but those who talk cockney are the most delightful.... As to nearly -everything that Mr. Lyons' cockneys say, we have an instinctive feeling -that it is exactly right."--_Times_. - -"There is no writer of our day who is so free from prejudice as Mr. Neil -Lyons, or puts down on paper so fearlessly the actual dialogue of our -streets.... Here, you will say, is the very man to take down the talk -of the humbler members of Lord Kitchener's Armies. And you will be -right. You will laugh heartily over 'Kitchener Chaps.'"--_Sunday -Times_. - -"Mr. Neil Lyons' sketches of the recruits in the new army are splendid, -humorous and human pen-pictures, almost the first genuine literature -that the war has produced. - -"One of the sketches, 'Old Nitch,' is a superb little masterpiece, but -they are all very, very good."--_Daily Express_. - - - - - *ARTHUR'S* - - *THE ROMANCE OF A COFFEE STALL* - - _Crown 8vo. 7s. net_ - - -"Very pretty comedy ... not only a very entertaining and amusing work, -but a very kindly and tolerant work also. At the back of it is -understanding and love of life, and that most admirable frame of mind -for an artist, the live-and-let-live temperament."--_Times_. - -"'Arthur's' can cordially be recommended.... Mr. Lyons seems to have the -animating gift as well as the seeing eye, and a kindly humour in -selection and treatment brings out the light and warmth of the stall -rather than its flare and smell."--_Manchester Guardian_. - - - - - *CLARA* - - *SOME SCATTERED CHAPTERS IN THE LIFE OF A HUSSY* - - _Crown 8vo. 7s. net_ - - -"No one can fail to recognise his rare qualities of sincerity and -sympathy, and his gift for impressionist character-drawing."--_Punch_. - -"It is a true picture--and the courage of the under-people is daintily, -sincerely, and dexterously revealed. One is glad to have known -Clara."--_Daily Mail_. - -"All are admirable, and one could only wish that every worker in -philanthropic or municipal machinery would learn them by -heart."--_Nation_. - - - - - *SIXPENNY PIECES* - - _Crown 8vo. 7s. and 2s. net_ - - -'Sixpenny Pieces' is as good as 'Arthur's.' ... For a book full of -laughter and tears and bits innumerable that one feels impelled to read -aloud, 'Sixpenny Pieces' would be very hard indeed to beat."--_Evening -Standard_. - -"Those who remember 'Arthur's,' by the same writer, will not need to be -told what excellent use he makes of his opportunities. A book of which -every page is a delight, written with humour and sympathy, and a gentle -satire, none the less biting for its restraint. In short, Mr. Lyons' -'Sixpenny Pieces' have the ring of true metal, and I for one shall -eagerly anticipate another issue from the same excellent -mint."--_Punch_. - - - - - *COTTAGE PIE* - - *A COUNTRY SPREAD* - - _Crown 8vo. 7s. net_ - - -"Marked with the humour and grip with which Mr. Lyons visualizes an -episode, and by his remarkable power of transcribing the talk of the -less educated classes of the community."--_Times_. - -"We doubt if it would be easy to overpraise Mr. Neil Lyons, for his -humour is of the truest and most discreet order. A jollier, -cheerfuller, more sympathetic book than 'Cottage Pie,' will be sought -after in vain among the successes of the season."--_Daily Telegraph_. - - - - - *SIMPLE SIMON* - - *HIS ADVENTURES IN THE THISTLE PATCH* - - With 8 Illustrations by G. E. PETO - - _Crown 8vo. 7s. net_ - - -"I found myself the grateful admirer of Simon and his creator. Mr. -Lyons' sympathetic drawing of certain odd London characters is a thing -that I have often admired; he has no portraits in his gallery better -than these, of the quaint objects of Simon's Silverside hospitality ... -specially did I like Margaret ... she and some others are also depicted -in some very attractive drawings which illustrates (for once the right -word) a book which will certainly delight those who can appreciate -it."--_Punch_. - -"Those who come fresh to his work will find in it a peculiar humour, -irresistible, cynical... They will also find a power of satire and a -true understanding of what are known as the 'lower -classes.'"--_Spectator_. - - - - - *MOBY LANE & THEREABOUTS* - - _Crown 8vo. 7s. net_ - - -"Mr. Lyons proves himself an adept in the matter and manner of Sussex -character.... There are many unforgettable creatures in this unexpected -book."--_Morning Post_. - -"There is, all through the book, a freshness of outlook which is -infectious, an incisive, humorous style, above all a keen plunging into -the middle of things."--_Spectator_. - - - - - *LANE'S 3/6 NOVELS* - - - *SOME NEW VOLUMES* - -STORIES NEAR AND FAR -THE OLD BRIDGE - By WILLIAM J. LOCKE - -THE HURCOTTS - By MURIEL HINE - -THE LAWS OF CHANCE -THE GREAT UNREST - By F. E. MILLS YOUNG - -WINSOME WINNIE - By STEPHEN LEACOCK - -A PRINCE OF DREAMERS -MISTRESS OF MEN - By FLORA ANNIE STEEL - -STEALTHY TERROR - By JOHN FERGUSON - -THE LOST CABIN MINE - By FREDERICK NIVEN - - - - - *LANE'S 2/- NOVELS* - - Bound in Stiff Boards with Coloured Picture Wrapper. - - _2s. net each volume_ - - NEW VOLUMES - -THE ROUGH ROAD -THE HOUSE OF BALTHAZAR -MOORDIUS & CO. - By WILLIAM J. LOCKE. - -HALF IN EARNEST -THE FLIGHT -TORQUIL'S SUCCESS -THE HIDDEN VALLEY - By MURIEL HINE - -THE MURDER ON THE LINKS -POIROT INVESTIGATES - By AGATHA CHRISTIE - -ROOKERY NOOK By BEN TRAVERS - - - -_Send for list of previous volumes, which include novels by William J. -Locke, Muriel Hine, F. E. Mills Young, Agatha Christie, Ben Travers, -Stephen Leacock, G. K. Chesterton, Annie Haynes, and others_. - - - JOHN LANE THE BODLEY HEAD LTD., VIGO ST., W.1. - - - - - - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SIXPENNY PIECES *** - - - - -A Word from Project Gutenberg - - -We will update this book if we find any errors. - -This book can be found under: http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/44952 - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no one -owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation (and -you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without permission -and without paying copyright royalties. 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