Doctor Luttrell's First Patient. Rosa Nouchette Carey
couch he looked so white that Olivia thought he was going to faint, and begged the housekeeper to give him some wine; he was evidently in severe pain.
"It would be better not to touch the foot until the doctor comes," she observed. And then Mrs. Crampton looked perplexed.
"My master does not hold with doctors, ma'am. I don't remember one ever crossing the threshold since poor Miriam had typhoid fever. The foot is swelling already, and it will be a job to get the boot off. Ah, I thought so"—as Mr. Gaythorne winced and motioned her away—"he will be afraid of one touching it!"
"My husband lives just opposite—the corner house with the red lamp in Harbut Street. He is a doctor and very clever, and I am nearly sure that he is in just now." Olivia spoke a little breathlessly and anxiously; then she bent over the old man.
"If Mrs. Crampton does not know of another doctor would you mind one of the maids running across the road for Dr. Luttrell? You are suffering so much, and your foot ought to be treated at once. It is impossible for any one to know if it be only a sprain until the boot is removed. You fell so heavily that perhaps a small bone might be broken."
"Yes—send—send," returned the invalid, irritably. "Clear the room, Crampton. You know that I hate to have a parcel of women round me.—There is no need for you to go, madam"—with an attempt at civility as Olivia was about to withdraw at this plain speaking. "Give the lady a chair, Phoebe."
But Olivia, who had excellent tact, only smiled pleasantly, and shook her head.
"I think it will be best for me to send the doctor across, there is nothing that I can do for you until he comes."
She took the old man's hand as she spoke and pressed it gently.
"I am so sorry to leave you in such pain, but I hope you will soon be relieved. Perhaps you will not mind my inquiring another day, but a stranger is only in the way to-night."
Olivia's soft, well-modulated voice was so full of kindly sympathy, that Mr. Gaythorne opened his weary eyes again.
"Thank you," was all he said; but he watched her keenly as she crossed the long room.
Olivia walked so quickly that she was almost out of breath when she reached her own door. The dining-room looked cold and comfortless. Martha was on her knees before the fireplace trying to revive the blackened embers with the help of the kitchen bellows, and Dr. Luttrell, with a tired face and puckered brow, was watching the proceedings somewhat impatiently. A tallow candle was guttering uncomfortably on the table.
"Is the fire out? Oh, Marcus, I am so sorry, but Martha and I will soon put things to rights. Will you go across to Galvaston House at once, please?"—and here Olivia's voice was full of suppressed excitement. "Mr. Gaythorne has slipped against the curb and hurt his foot; he is in great pain. I have been helping him, and then I said I would send you. I have left the gate open so you can just go up to the door."
Marcus listened to these details with an astonished face; then he caught up his black bag and nodded acquiescence. The tired frown left his face, and he moved away with his quiet, professional step.
Olivia watched him from the doorstep. As she closed the door after him, she could have clapped her hands with sheer delight and excitement. It was her doing that Marcus had his first patient. Those foolish maids would never have thought of sending for him. Dot was awake and singing to herself in her usual chuckling fashion in the firelight, but Olivia had no time to play with her pet.
"The bellows are no good, Martha," she said, quickly. "You must just fetch a bundle of sticks and a newspaper, and relay the fire, while I kindle the lamp and set the table for tea; the room feels like a vault."
"There is a good fire in the kitchen, ma'am, if you want to make toast," observed Martha, rising reluctantly from her knees; "I have been ironing Miss Baby's pinnys." Olivia, who was drawing the heavy curtain across the window, was relieved to hear this.
In another quarter of an hour the little room wore a more cheerful aspect. The sticks crackled and blazed lustily; the green-shaded lamp diffused a mellow light. The tea-tray was set and the plate of French toast was frizzling gently on a brass trivet. At the sound of her master's footstep Martha had orders to fill up the teapot and boil the eggs.
After this Olivia played with Dot, and undressed her, and then brought her in to say good-night to her father. But she waxed sleepy long before he let himself in with his latch-key.
Marcus paused on the threshold a moment as though something struck him. Olivia's face looked fair and sweet as she sat in her low chair with the sleepy child in her arms. She put back her head with a soft questioning smile as he bent down to kiss her face.
"Dot is nearly asleep, but I had not the heart to put her in her cot until you had seen her; tea is quite ready, and Martha is boiling some new-laid eggs. Aunt Madge has sent you, too, a pot of her home-made marmalade, because she knows how fond you are of it. Sit down and begin, I shall not be a moment," and Olivia's voice was so full of suppressed excitement, that Marcus laughed as he drew his chair to the table; he was tired and hungry, but he no longer felt impatient and depressed.
"Now tell me everything," she exclaimed, when she came back. "What have you done? Was the foot very bad? Will you have to go to Galvaston House again?"
"Rather!" returned Marcus; "it is a pretty bad sprain, I can tell you. Why, I should not be surprised if Mr. Gaythorne is laid up for the next two or three weeks; he is not in good condition and the shaking and fright have upset him. He will want good nursing and plenty of attention, as I told his housekeeper. I am going again early in the morning."
"And was he civil to you? Mrs. Crampton says he hates doctors," and Olivia's tone was a trifle anxious.
"Well, he was a bit grumpy at first, but I had my work to do, and took no notice, but when I had helped him upstairs and put him comfortable for the night, he waxed a shade more gracious and thanked me quite civilly. I fancy he is a character and has lived so long alone that he has grown morose and unsociable. That blind hound of his followed us upstairs and would not leave him. Did you notice him, Livy?"
"Yes; and is it not a nice house, Marcus? That library is a beautiful room. All those hundreds of well-bound books, and the massive oak furniture. I had not time to notice things, but I could not help feeling how deliciously soft and warm the carpets felt to one's feet, and then those lovely rugs and skins in the hall."
"His bedroom was just as luxurious. Mr. Gaythorne is evidently a rich man, though he keeps no carriage. Mrs. Crampton told me so. He is very fond of flowers; there is a sort of conservatory on the first floor full of beautiful plants, and an alcove where he can sit and enjoy them. I could not help stopping a moment to admire them, but Mrs. Crampton did not invite me to go in. You may depend upon it the old gentleman is a strict martinet, and rules his household with a rod of iron. Mrs. Crampton seems a good creature, but he spoke pretty sharply to her once or twice."
"But he was in such pain, Marcus."
"Yes, my dear, I know that. Oh, by-the-bye, he sent his compliments to you. 'I am greatly indebted to Mrs. Luttrell, and I trust that I shall soon have an opportunity of thanking her properly for her kind helpfulness.' There, Livy, now we shall hear no more of the Nihilist or the Roman priest."
Dr. Luttrell was in spirits; it was easy to see that. The first patient, the first brief, the first book—aye, and the first love. What a halo remains round them!
Our first-fruits may be immature, unripe, but to us they have a goodly flavour, a subtle, sweet aroma of their own. All through his successful life Dr. Luttrell will look back to this evening as the turning-point of his career, when; he stood cold and tired watching Martha's bellows, and his wife's voice with a triumphant ring in it had called to him from the threshold.
Marcus's first piece of good luck had so absorbed them that it was some time before Olivia remembered to tell him about Aunt Madge's present. Marcus forgot to go on with his tea when he saw the little heap of coins in his wife's hand. Martha's wages, Dot's pelisse, and even the gloves and new hat-trimming were all duly canvassed. When Marcus said,