Barrington. Volume 1. Lever Charles James
ain’t we dignified! So you’d rather see me plucked, eh?”
“Yes, if that should be the only alternative.”
“Thank you, Polly, that’s all! thank you,” said he; and he drew his sleeve across his eyes.
“My dear Tom,” said she, laying her white soft hand on his coarse brown fingers, “can you not see that if I even stooped to anything so unworthy, that it would compromise your whole prospects in life? You’d obtain an assistant-surgeoncy, and never rise above it.”
“And do I ask to rise above it? Do I ask anything beyond getting out of this house, and earning bread that is not grudged me?”
“Nay, nay; if you talk that way, I’ve done.”
“Well, I do talk that way. He sent me off to Kilkenny last week – you saw it yourself – to bring out that trash for the shop, and he would n’t pay the car hire, and made me carry two stone of carbonate of magnesia and a jar of leeches fourteen miles. You were just taking that post and rail out of Nixon’s lawn as I came by. You saw me well enough.”
“I am glad to say I did not,” said she, sighing.
“I saw you, then, and how that gray carried you! You were waving a handkerchief in your hand; what was that for?”
“It was to show Ambrose Bushe that the ground was good; he was afraid of being staked!”
“That’s exactly what I am. I ‘m afraid of being ‘staked up’ at the Hall, and if you ‘d take as much trouble about your brother as you did for Ambrose Bushe – ”
“Tom, Tom, I have taken it for eight weary months. I believe I know Bell on the bones, and Harrison on the arteries, by heart!”
“Who thanks you?” said he, doggedly. “When you read a thing twice, you never forget it; but it’s not so with me.”
“Try what a little work will do, Tom; be assured there is not half as much disparity between people’s brains as there is between their industry.”
“I’d rather have luck than either, I know that. It’s the only thing, after all.”
She gave a very deep sigh, and leaned her head on her hand.
“Work and toil as hard as you may,” continued he, with all the fervor of one on a favorite theme, “if you haven’t luck you ‘ll be beaten. Can you deny that, Polly?”
“If you allow me to call merit what you call luck, I’ll agree with you. But I ‘d much rather go on with our work. What is the insertion of the deltoid? I’m sure you know that!”
“The deltoid! the deltoid!” muttered he. “I forget all about the deltoid, but, of course, it’s like the rest of them. It’s inserted into a ridge or a process, or whatever you call it – ”
“Oh, Tom, this is very hopeless. How can you presume to face your examiners with such ignorance as this?”
“I’ll tell you what I’ll do, Polly; Grove told me he did it, – if I find my pluck failing me, I ‘ll have a go of brandy before I go in.”
She found it very hard not to laugh at the solemn gravity of this speech, and just as hard not to cry as she looked at him who spoke it At the same moment Dr. Dill opened the door, calling out sharply, “Where’s that fellow, Tom? Who has seen him this morning?”
“He’s here, papa,” said Polly. “We are brushing up the anatomy for the last time.”
“His head must be in capital order for it, after his night’s exploit. I heard of you, sir, and your reputable wager. Noonan was up here this morning with the whole story!”
“I ‘d have won if they ‘d not put snuff in the punch – ”
“You are a shameless hound – ”
“Oh, papa! If you knew how he was working, – how eager he is to pass his examination, and be a credit to us all, and owe his independence to himself – ”
“I know more of him than you do, miss, – far more, too, than he is aware of, – and I know something of myself also; and I tell him now, that if he’s rejected at the examination, he need not come back here with the news.”
“And where am I to go, then?” asked the young fellow, half insolently.
“You may go – ” Where to, the doctor was not suffered to indicate, for already Polly had thrown herself into his arms and arrested the speech.
“Well, I suppose I can ‘list; a fellow need not know much about gallipots for that.” As he said this, he snatched up his tattered old cap and made for the door.
“Stay, sir! I have business for you to do,” cried Dill, sternly. “There’s a young gentleman at the ‘Fisherman’s Home’ laid up with a bad sprain. I have prescribed twenty leeches on the part. Go down and apply them.”
“That’s what old Molly Day used to do,” said Tom, angrily.’
“Yes, sir, and knew more of the occasion that required it than you will ever do. See that you apply them all to the outer ankle, and attend well to the bleeding; the patient is a young man of rank, with whom you had better take no liberties.”
“If I go at all – ”
“Tom, Tom, none of this!” said Polly, who drew very close to him, and looked up at him with eyes full of tears.
“Am I going as your son this time? or did you tell him – as you told Mr. Nixon – that you ‘d send your young man?”
“There! listen to that!” cried the doctor, turning to Polly. “I hope you are proud of your pupil.”
She made no answer, but whispering some hurried words in her brother’s ear, and pressing at the same time something into his hand, she shuffled him out of the room and closed the door.
The doctor now paced the room, so engrossed by passion that he forgot he was not alone, and uttered threats and mumbled out dark predictions with a fearful energy. Meanwhile Polly put by the books and drawings, and removed everything which might recall the late misadventure.
“What’s your letter about, papa?” said she, pointing to a square-shaped envelope which he still held in his hand.
“Oh, by the way,” said he, quietly, “this is from Cob-ham. They ask us up there to dinner to-day, and to stop the night.” The doctor tried very hard to utter this speech with the unconcern of one alluding to some every-day occurrence. Nay, he did more; he endeavored to throw into it a certain air of fastidious weariness, as though to say, “See how these people will have me; mark how they persecute me with their attentions!”
Polly understood the “situation” perfectly, and it was with actual curiosity in her tone she asked, “Do you mean to go, sir?”
“I suppose we must, dear,” he said, with a deep sigh. “A professional man is no more the arbiter of his social hours than of his business ones. Cooper always said dining at home costs a thousand a year.”
“So much, papa?” asked she, with much semblance of innocence.
“I don’t mean to myself,” said he, reddening, “nor to any physician in country practice; but we all lose by it, more or less.”
Polly, meanwhile, had taken the letter, and was reading it over. It was very brief. It had been originally begun, “Lady Cobham presents,” but a pen was run through the words, and it ran, —
“Dear Dr. Dill, – If a short notice will not inconvenience you, will you and your daughter dine here to-day at seven? There is no moon, and we shall expect you to stay the night.
“Truly yours,
“Georgiana Cobham.
“The Admiral hopes Miss D. will not forget to bring her music.”
“Then we go, sir?” asked she, with eagerness; for it was a house to which she had never yet been invited, though she