XIV
THE DOCTORS OF HOYLAND
Doctor James Ripley was always looked upon as an exceedingly lucky dogby all of the profession who knew him. His father had preceded him in apractice in the village of Hoyland, in the north of Hampshire, and allwas ready for him on the very first day that the law allowed him to puthis name at the foot of a prescription. In a few years the old gentlemanretired, and settled on the South Coast, leaving his son in undisputedpossession of the whole country-side. Save for Doctor Horton, nearBasingstoke, the young surgeon had a clear run of six miles in everydirection, and took his fifteen hundred pounds a year, though, as isusual in country practices, the stable swallowed up most of what theconsulting-room earned.
Doctor James Ripley was two-and-thirty years of age, reserved, learned,unmarried, with set, rather stern features, and a thinning of the darkhair upon the top of his head, which was worth quite a hundred a year tohim. He was particularly happy in his management of ladies. He hadcaught the tone of bland sternness and decisive suavity which dominateswithout offending. Ladies, however, were not equally happy in theirmanagement of him. Professionally, he was always at their service.Socially, he was a drop of quicksilver. In vain the country mammasspread out their simple lures in front of him. Dances and picnics werenot to his taste, and he preferred during his scanty leisure to shuthimself up in his study, and to bury himself in Virchow's _Archives_ andthe professional journals.
Study was a passion with him, and he would have none of the rust whichoften gathers round a country practitioner. It was his ambition to keephis knowledge as fresh and bright as at the moment when he had steppedout of the examination hall. He prided himself on being able at amoment's notice to rattle off the seven ramifications of some obscureartery, or to give the exact percentage of any physiological compound.After a long day's work he would sit up half the night performingiridectomies and extractions upon the sheep's eyes sent in by thevillage butcher, to the horror of his housekeeper, who had to remove the_debris_ next morning. His love for his work was the one fanaticismwhich found a place in his dry, precise nature.
It was the more to his credit that he should keep up to date in hisknowledge, since he had no competition to force him to exertion. In theseven years during which he had practiced in Hoyland three rivals hadpitted themselves against him, two in the village itself and one in theneighbouring hamlet of Lower Hoyland. Of these one had sickened andwasted, being, as it was said, himself the only patient whom he hadtreated during his eighteen months of ruralising. A second had bought afourth share of a Basingstoke practice, and had departed honourably,while a third had vanished one September night, leaving a gutted houseand an unpaid drug bill behind him. Since then the district had become amonopoly, and no one had dared to measure himself against theestablished fame of the Hoyland doctor.
It was, then, with a feeling of some surprise and considerable curiositythat on driving through Lower Hoyland one morning he perceived that thenew house at the end of the village was occupied, and that a virginbrass plate glistened upon the swinging gate which faced the high road.He pulled up his fifty guinea chestnut mare and took a good look at it."Verrinder Smith, M.D.," was printed across it in very neat, smalllettering. The last man had had letters half a foot long, with a lamplike a fire-station. Doctor James Ripley noted the difference, anddeduced from it that the new-comer might possibly prove a moreformidable opponent. He was convinced of it that evening when he came toconsult the current medical directory. By it he learned that DoctorVerrinder Smith was the holder of superb degrees, that he had studiedwith distinction at Edinburgh, Paris, Berlin, and Vienna, and finallythat he had been awarded a gold medal and the Lee Hopkins scholarshipfor original research, in recognition of an exhaustive inquiry into thefunctions of the anterior spinal nerve roots. Doctor Ripley passed hisfingers through his thin hair in bewilderment as he read his rival'srecord. What on earth could so brilliant a man mean by putting up hisplate in a little Hampshire hamlet.
But Doctor Ripley furnished himself with an explanation to the riddle.No doubt Dr. Verrinder Smith had simply come down there in order topursue some scientific research in peace and quiet. The plate was up asan address rather than as an invitation to patients. Of course, thatmust be the true explanation. In that case the presence of thisbrilliant neighbour would be a splendid thing for his own studies. Hehad often longed for some kindred mind, some steel on which he mightstrike his flint. Chance had brought it to him, and he rejoicedexceedingly.
And this joy it was which led him to take a step which was quite atvariance with his usual habits. It is the custom for a new-comer amongmedical men to call first upon the older, and the etiquette upon thesubject is strict. Doctor Ripley was pedantically exact on such points,and yet he deliberately drove over next day and called upon DoctorVerrinder Smith. Such a waiving of ceremony was, he felt, a gracious actupon his part, and a fit prelude to the intimate relations which hehoped to establish with his neighbour.
The house was neat and well appointed, and Doctor Ripley was shown by asmart maid into a dapper little consulting-room. As he passed in henoticed two or three parasols and a lady's sun-bonnet hanging in thehall. It was a pity that his colleague should be a married man. It wouldput them upon a different footing, and interfere with those longevenings of high scientific talk which he had pictured to himself. Onthe other hand, there was much in the consulting-room to please him.Elaborate instruments, seen more often in hospitals than in the housesof private practitioners, were scattered about. A sphygmograph stoodupon the table and a gasometer-like engine, which was new to DoctorRipley, in the corner. A bookcase full of ponderous volumes in Frenchand German, paper-covered for the most part, and varying in tint fromthe shell to the yolk of a duck's egg, caught his wandering eyes, and hewas deeply absorbed in their titles when the door opened suddenly behindhim. Turning round, he found himself facing a little woman, whose plain,palish face was remarkable only for a pair of shrewd, humorous eyes of ablue which had two shades too much green in it. She held a _pince-nez_in her left hand, and the doctor's card in her right.
"How do you do, Doctor Ripley?" said she.
"How do you do, madam?" returned the visitor. "Your husband is perhapsout?"
"I am not married," said she simply.
"Oh, I beg your pardon! I meant the doctor--Dr. Verrinder Smith."
"I am Doctor Verrinder Smith."
Doctor Ripley was so surprised that he dropped his hat and forgot topick it up again.
"What!" he gasped, "the Lee Hopkins prizeman! You!"
He had never seen a woman doctor before, and his whole conservative soulrose up in revolt at the idea. He could not recall any Biblicalinjunction that the man should remain ever the doctor and the woman thenurse, and yet he felt as if a blasphemy had been committed. His facebetrayed his feelings only too clearly.
"I am sorry to disappoint you," said the lady drily.
"You certainly have surprised me," he answered, picking up his hat.
"You are not among our champions, then?"
"I cannot say that the movement has my approval."
"And why?"
"I should much prefer not to discuss it."
"But I am sure you will answer a lady's question."
"Ladies are in danger of losing their privileges when they usurp theplace of the other sex. They cannot claim both."
"Why should a woman not earn her bread by her brains?"
Doctor Ripley felt irritated by the quiet manner in which the ladycross-questioned him.
"I should much prefer not to be led into a discussion, Miss Smith."
"Doctor Smith," she interrupted.
"Well, Doctor Smith! But if you insist upon an answer, I must say that Ido not think medicine a suitable profession for women and that I have apersonal objection to masculine ladies."
It was an exceedingly rude speech, and he was ashamed of it, the instantafter he had made it. The lady however, simply raised her eyebrows andsmiled.
"It seems to me th
at you are begging the question," said she. "Ofcourse, if it makes women masculine that _would_ be a considerabledeterioration."
It was a neat little counter, and Doctor Ripley, like a pinked fencer,bowed his acknowledgment.
"I must go," said he.
"I am sorry that we cannot come to some more friendly conclusion sincewe are to be neighbours," she remarked.
He bowed again, and took a step towards the door.
"It was a singular coincidence," she continued, "that at the instantthat you called I was reading your paper on 'Locomotor Ataxia,' in the_Lancet_."
"Indeed," said he drily.
"I thought it was a very able monograph."
"You are very good."
"But the views which you attribute to Professor Pitres, of Bordeaux,have been repudiated by him."
"I have his pamphlet of 1890," said Doctor Ripley angrily.
"Here is his pamphlet of 1891." She picked it from among a litter ofperiodicals. "If you have time to glance your eye down this passage----"
Doctor Ripley took it from her and shot rapidly through the paragraphwhich she indicated. There was no denying that it completely knocked thebottom out of his own article. He threw it down, and with another frigidbow he made for the door. As he took the reins from the groom he glancedround and saw that the lady was standing at her window, and it seemed tohim that she was laughing heartily.
All day the memory of this interview haunted him. He felt that he hadcome very badly out of it. She had showed herself to be his superior onhis own pet subject. She had been courteous while he had been rude,self-possessed when he had been angry. And then, above all, there washer presence, her monstrous intrusion to rankle in his mind. A womandoctor had been an abstract thing before, repugnant but distant. Now shewas there in actual practice, with a brass plate up just like his own,competing for the same patients. Not that he feared competition, but heobjected to this lowering of his ideal of womanhood. She could not bemore than thirty, and had a bright, mobile face, too. He thought of herhumorous eyes, and of her strong, well-turned chin. It revolted him themore to recall the details of her education. A man, of course, couldcome through such an ordeal with all his purity, but it was nothingshort of shameless in a woman.
But it was not long before he learned that even her competition was athing to be feared. The novelty of her presence had brought a fewcurious invalids into her consulting-rooms, and, once there, they hadbeen so impressed by the firmness of her manner and by the singular,new-fashioned instruments with which she tapped, and peered, andsounded, that it formed the core of their conversation for weeksafterwards. And soon there were tangible proofs of her powers upon thecountry-side. Farmer Eyton, whose callous ulcer had been quietlyspreading over his shin for years back under a gentle regime of zincointment, was painted round with blistering fluid, and found, afterthree blasphemous nights, that his sore was stimulated into healing.Mrs. Crowder, who had always regarded the birthmark upon her seconddaughter Eliza as a sign of the indignation of the Creator at a thirdhelping of raspberry tart which she had partaken of during a criticalperiod, learned that, with the help of two galvanic needles, themischief was not irreparable. In a month Doctor Verrinder Smith wasknown, and in two she was famous.
Occasionally, Doctor Ripley met her as he drove upon his rounds. She hadstarted a high dog-cart, taking the reins herself, with a little tigerbehind. When they met he invariably raised his hat with punctiliouspoliteness, but the grim severity of his face showed how formal was thecourtesy. In fact, his dislike was rapidly deepening into absolutedetestation. "The unsexed woman," was the description of her which hepermitted himself to give to those of his patients who still remainedstaunch. But, indeed, they were a rapidly-decreasing body, and every dayhis pride was galled by the news of some fresh defection. The lady hadsomehow impressed the country-folk with almost superstitious belief inher power, and from far and near they flocked to her consulting-room.
But what galled him most of all was, when she did something which he hadpronounced to be impracticable. For all his knowledge he lacked nerve asan operator, and usually sent his worst cases up to London. The lady,however, had no weakness of the sort, and took everything that came inher way. It was agony to him to hear that she was about to straightenlittle Alec Turner's club-foot, and right at the fringe of the rumourcame a note from his mother, the rector's wife, asking him if he wouldbe so good as to act as chloroformist. It would be inhumanity to refuse,as there was no other who could take the place, but it was gall andwormwood to his sensitive nature. Yet, in spite of his vexation, hecould not but admire the dexterity with which the thing was done. Shehandled the little wax-like foot so gently, and held the tiny tenotomyknife as an artist holds his pencil. One straight insertion, one snickof a tendon, and it was all over without a stain upon the white towelwhich lay beneath. He had never seen anything more masterly, and he hadthe honesty to say so, though her skill increased his dislike of her.The operation spread her fame still further at his expense, andself-preservation was added to his other grounds for detesting her. Andthis very detestation it was which brought matters to a curious climax.
One winter's night, just as he was rising from his lonely dinner, agroom came riding down from Squire Faircastle's, the richest man in thedistrict, to say that his daughter had scalded her hand, and thatmedical help was needed on the instant. The coachman had ridden for thelady doctor, for it mattered nothing to the Squire who came as long asit were speedily. Doctor Ripley rushed from his surgery with thedetermination that she should not effect an entrance into thisstronghold of his if hard driving on his part could prevent it. He didnot even wait to light his lamps, but sprang into his gig and flew offas fast as hoof could rattle. He lived rather nearer to the Squire'sthan she did, and was convinced that he could get there well before her.
And so he would but for that whimsical element of chance, which will forever muddle up the affairs of this world and dumbfound the prophets.Whether it came from the want of his lights, or from his mind being fullof the thoughts of his rival, he allowed too little by half a foot intaking the sharp turn upon the Basingstoke road. The empty trap and thefrightened horse clattered away into the darkness, while the Squire'sgroom crawled out of the ditch into which he had been shot. He struck amatch, looked down at his groaning companion, and then, after thefashion of rough, strong men when they see what they have not seenbefore, he was very sick.
The doctor raised himself a little on his elbow in the glint of thematch. He caught a glimpse of something white and sharp bristlingthrough his trouser-leg half-way down the shin.
"Compound!" he groaned. "A three months' job," and fainted.
When he came to himself the groom was gone, for he had scudded off tothe Squire's house for help, but a small page was holding a gig-lamp infront of his injured leg, and a woman, with an open case of polishedinstruments gleaming in the yellow light, was deftly slitting up histrouser with a crooked pair of scissors.
"It's all right, doctor," said she soothingly. "I am so sorry about it.You can have Doctor Horton to-morrow, but I am sure you will allow me tohelp you to-night. I could hardly believe my eyes when I saw you by theroadside."
"The groom has gone for help," groaned the sufferer.
"When it comes we can move you into the gig. A little more light, John!So! Ah, dear, dear, we shall have laceration unless we reduce thisbefore we move you. Allow me to give you a whiff of chloroform, and Ihave no doubt that I can secure it sufficiently to----"
Doctor Ripley never heard the end of that sentence. He tried to raise ahand and to murmur something in protest, but a sweet smell was in hisnostrils, and a sense of rich peace and lethargy stole over his janglednerves. Down he sank, through clear, cool water, ever down and down intothe green shadows beneath, gently, without effort, while the pleasantchiming of a great belfry rose and fell in his ears. Then he rose again,up and up, and ever up, with a terrible tightness about his temples,until at last he shot out of those green shadows and was in the lightonce
more. Two bright, shining, golden spots gleamed before his dazedeyes. He blinked and blinked before he could give a name to them. Theywere only the two brass balls at the end posts of his bed, and he waslying in his own little room, with a head like a cannon ball, and a leglike an iron bar. Turning his eyes, he saw the calm face of DoctorVerrinder Smith looking down at him.
"Ah, at last!" said she. "I kept you under all the way home, for I knewhow painful the jolting would be. It is in good position now with astrong side splint. I have ordered a morphia draught for you. Shall Itell your groom to ride for Doctor Horton in the morning?"
"I should prefer that you should continue the case," said Doctor Ripleyfeebly, and then, with a half-hysterical laugh--"You have all the restof the parish as patients, you know, so you may as well make the thingcomplete by having me also."
It was not a very gracious speech, but it was a look of pity and not ofanger which shone in her eyes as she turned away from his bedside.
Doctor Ripley had a brother, William, who was assistant surgeon at aLondon hospital, and who was down in Hampshire within a few hours of hishearing of the accident. He raised his brows when he heard the details.
"What! You are pestered with one of those!" he cried.
"I don't know what I should have done without her."
"I've no doubt she's an excellent nurse."
"She knows her work as well as you or I."
"Speak for yourself, James," said the London man with a sniff. "Butapart from that, you know that the principle of the thing is all wrong."
"You think there is nothing to be said on the other side?"
"Good heavens! do you?"
"Well, I don't know. It struck me during the night that we may have beena little narrow in our views."
"Nonsense, James. It's all very fine for women to win prizes in thelecture-room, but you know as well as I do that they are no use in anemergency. Now I warrant that this woman was all nerves when she wassetting your leg. That reminds me that I had better just take a look atit and see that it is all right."
"I would rather that you did not undo it," said the patient. "I have herassurance that it is all right."
Brother William was deeply shocked.
"Of course, if a woman's assurance is of more value than the opinion ofthe assistant surgeon of a London hospital, there is nothing more to besaid," he remarked.
"I should prefer that you did not touch it," said the patient firmly,and Doctor William went back to London that evening in a huff.
The lady, who had heard of his coming, was much surprised on learning ofhis departure.
"We had a difference upon a point of professional etiquette," saidDoctor James, and it was all the explanation he would vouchsafe.
For two long months Doctor Ripley was brought in contact with his rivalevery day, and he learned many things which he had not known before. Shewas a charming companion, as well as a most assiduous doctor. Her shortpresence during the long, weary day was like a flower in a sand waste.What interested him was precisely what interested her, and she couldmeet him at every point upon equal terms. And yet under all her learningand her firmness ran a sweet, womanly nature, peeping out in her talk,shining in her greenish eyes, showing itself in a thousand subtle wayswhich the dullest of men could read. And he, though a bit of a prig anda pedant, was by no means dull, and had honesty enough to confess whenhe was in the wrong.
"I don't know how to apologise to you," he said in his shame-facedfashion one day, when he had progressed so far as to be able to sit inan arm-chair with his leg upon another one; "I feel that I have beenquite in the wrong."
"Why, then?"
"Over this woman question. I used to think that a woman must inevitablylose something of her charm if she took up such studies."
"Oh, you don't think they are necessarily unsexed, then?" she cried,with a mischievous smile.
"Please don't recall my idiotic expression."
"I feel so pleased that I should have helped in changing your views. Ithink that it is the most sincere compliment that I have ever had paidme."
"At any rate, it is the truth," said he, and was happy all night at theremembrance of the flush of pleasure which made her pale face look quitecomely for the instant.
For, indeed, he was already far past the stage when he would acknowledgeher as the equal of any other woman. Already he could not disguise fromhimself that she had become the one woman. Her dainty skill, her gentletouch, her sweet presence, the community of their tastes, had all unitedto hopelessly upset his previous opinions. It was a dark day for him nowwhen his convalescence allowed her to miss a visit, and darker stillthat other one which he saw approaching when all occasion for her visitswould be at an end. It came round at last, however, and he felt that hiswhole life's fortune would hang upon the issue of that final interview.He was a direct man by nature, so he laid his hand upon hers as it feltfor his pulse, and he asked her if she would be his wife.
"What, and unite the practices?" said she.
He started in pain and anger.
"Surely you do not attribute any such base motive to me!" he cried. "Ilove you as unselfishly as ever a woman was loved."
"No, I was wrong. It was a foolish speech," said she, moving her chair alittle back, and tapping her stethoscope upon her knee. "Forget that Iever said it. I am so sorry to cause you any disappointment, and Iappreciate most highly the honour which you do me, but what you ask isquite impossible."
With another woman he might have urged the point, but his instincts toldhim that it was quite useless with this one. Her tone of voice wasconclusive. He said nothing, but leaned back in his chair a strickenman.
"I am so sorry," she said again. "If I had known what was passing inyour mind I should have told you earlier that I intend to devote my lifeentirely to science. There are many women with a capacity for marriage,but few with a taste for biology. I will remain true to my own line,then. I came down here while waiting for an opening in the ParisPhysiological Laboratory. I have just heard that there is a vacancy forme there, and so you will be troubled no more by my intrusion upon yourpractice. I have done you an injustice just as you did me one. I thoughtyou narrow and pedantic, with no good quality. I have learned duringyour illness to appreciate you better, and the recollection of ourfriendship will always be a very pleasant one to me."
And so it came about that in a very few weeks there was only one doctorin Hoyland. But folks noticed that the one had aged many years in a fewmonths, that a weary sadness lurked always in the depths of his blueeyes, and that he was less concerned than ever with the eligible youngladies whom chance, or their careful country mammas, placed in his way.
XV
CRABBE'S PRACTICE
I wonder how many men remember Tom Waterhouse Crabbe, student ofmedicine in this city. He was a man whom it was not easy to forget ifyou had once come across him. Geniuses are more commonly read about thanseen, but one could not speak five minutes with Crabbe withoutrecognising that he had inherited some touch of that subtle, indefinableessence. There was a bold originality in his thought, and a convincingearnestness in his mode of expressing it, which pointed to somethinghigher than mere cleverness. He studied spasmodically and irregularly,yet he was one of the first men--certainly the most independentthinker--of his year. Poor Crabbe--there was something delightfullyoriginal even in his mistakes. I can remember how he laboriouslyexplained to his examiner that the Spanish fly _grew_ in Spain. And howhe gave five drops of Sabin oil credit for producing that state which itis usually believed to rectify.
Crabbe was not at all the type of man whom we usually associate with theword "genius." He was not pale nor thin, neither was his hair ofabnormal growth. On the contrary he was a powerfully built,square-shouldered fellow, full of vitality, with a voice like a bull anda laugh that could be heard across the meadows. A muscular Christiantoo, and one of the best Rugby forwards in Edinburgh.
I remember my first meeting with Crabbe. It gave me a respect both forhis cool reasoning
powers and for his courage. It was at one of theBulgarian Atrocity meetings held in Edinburgh in '78. The hall wasdensely packed and the ventilation defective, so that I was not sorry tofind that owing to my lateness I was unable to get any place, and had tostand in the doorway. Leaning against the wall there I could both enjoythe cool air and hear the invectives which speaker after speaker washurling at the Conservative ministry. The audience seemedenthusiastically unanimous. A burst of cheering hailed every argumentand sarcasm. There was not one dissentient voice. The speaker paused tomoisten his lips, and there was a silence over the hall. Then a clearvoice rose from the middle of it: "All very fine, but what didGladstone----" There was a howl of execration and yells of "Turn himout!" But the voice was still audible. "What did Gladstone do in '63?"it demanded. "Turn him out. Show him out of the window! Put him out!"There was a perfect hurricane of threats and abuse. Men sprang upon thebenches shaking their sticks and peering over each other's shoulders toget a glimpse of the daring Conservative. "What did Gladstone do in'63?" roared the voice; "I insist upon being answered." There wasanother howl of execration, a great swaying of the crowd, and an eddy inthe middle of it. Then the mass of people parted and a man was borne outkicking and striking, and after a desperate resistance was precipitateddown the stairs.
As the meeting became somewhat monotonous after this littledivertisement, I went down into the street to cool myself. There was myinquisitive friend leaning up against a lamp-post with his coat torn toshreds and a pipe in his mouth. Recognising him by his cut as being amedical student, I took advantage of the freemasonry which existsbetween members of that profession.
"Excuse me," I said, "you are a medical, aren't you?"
"Yes," he said; "Thomas Crabbe, a 'Varsity man."
"My name is Barton," I said. "Pardon my curiosity, but would you mindtelling me what Gladstone _did_ do in '63?"
"My dear chap," said Crabbe, taking my arm and marching up the streetwith me, "I haven't the remotest idea in the world. You see, I wasconfoundedly hot and I wanted a smoke, and there seemed no chance ofgetting out, for I was jammed up right in the middle of the hall, so Ithought I'd just make them carry me out; and I did--not a bad idea, wasit? If you have nothing better to do, come up to my digs and have somesupper."
"Certainly," said I; and that was the foundation of my friendship withThomas Crabbe.
Crabbe took his degree a year before I did, and went down to a largeport in England with the intention of setting up there. A brilliantcareer seemed to lie before him, for besides his deep knowledge ofmedicine, acquired in the most practical school in the world, he hadthat indescribable manner which gains a patient's confidence at once. Itis curious how seldom the two are united. That charming doctor, my dearmadam, who pulled the young Charley through the measles so nicely, andhad such a pleasant manner and such a clever face, was a noted duffer atcollege and the laughing-stock of his year. While poor little DoctorGrinder whom you snubbed so, and who seemed so nervous and didn't knowwhere to put his hands, he won a gold medal for original research andwas as good a man as his professors. After all, it is generally theoutside case, not the inside works, which is noticed in this world.
Crabbe went down with his young degree, and a still younger wife, tosettle in this town, which we will call Brisport. I was acting asassistant to a medical man in Manchester, and heard little from myformer friend, save that he had set up in considerable style, and wasmaking a bid for a high-class practice at once. I read one most deep anderudite paper in a medical journal, entitled "Curious Development of aDiscopherous Bone in the Stomach of a Duck," which emanated from hispen, but beyond this and some remarks on the embryology of fishes heseemed strangely quiet.
One day to my surprise I received a telegram from Mrs. Crabbe begging meto run down to Brisport and see her husband, as he was far from well.Having obtained leave of absence from my principal, I started by thenext train, seriously anxious about my friend. Mrs. Crabbe met me at thestation. She told me Tom was getting very much broken down by continuedanxiety; the expenses of keeping up his establishment were heavy, andpatients were few and far between. He wished my advice and knowledge ofpractical work to guide him in this crisis.
I certainly found Crabbe altered very much for the worse. He lookedgaunt and cadaverous, and much of his old reckless joyousness had lefthim, though he brightened up wonderfully on seeing an old friend.
After dinner the three of us held a solemn council of war, in which helaid before me all his difficulties. "What in the world am I to do,Barton?" he said. "If I could make myself known it would be all right,but no one seems to look at my door-plate, and the place is overstockedwith doctors. I believe they think I am a D.D. I wouldn't mind if theseother fellows were good men, but they are not. They are all antiquatedold fogies at least half a century behind the day. Now there is oldMarkham, who lives in that brick house over there and does most of thepractice in the town. I'll swear he doesn't know the difference betweenlocomotor ataxia and a hypodermic syringe, but he is known, so theyflock into his surgery in a manner which is simply repulsive. AndDavidson down the road, he is only an L.S.A. Talked about epispasticparalysis at the Society the other night--confused it with liquorepispasticus, you know. Yet that fellow makes a pound to my shilling."
"Get your name known and write," said I.
"But what on earth am I to write about?" asked Crabbe. "If a man has nocases, how in the world is he to describe them? Help yourself and passthe bottle."
"Couldn't you invent a case just to raise the wind?"
"Not a bad idea," said Crabbe thoughtfully. "By the way, did you see my'Discopherous Bone in a Duck's Stomach'?"
"Yes; it seemed rather good."
"Good, I believe you! Why, man, it was a domino which the old duck hadmanaged to gorge itself with. It was a perfect godsend. Then I wroteabout embryology of fishes because I knew nothing about it and reasonedthat ninety-nine men in a hundred would be in the same boat. But as toinventing whole cases, it seems rather daring, does it not?"
"A desperate disease needs desperate remedies," said I. "You rememberold Hobson at college. He writes once a year to the British Medical andasks if any correspondent can tell him how much it costs to keep a horsein the country. And then he signs himself in the Medical Register as'The contributor of several unostentatious queries and remarks toscientific papers!'"
It was quite a treat to hear Crabbe laugh with his old student guffaw."Well, old man," he said, "we'll talk it over to-morrow. We mustn't beselfish and forget that you are a visitor here. Come along out, and seethe beauties (save the mark!) of Brisport." So saying he donned afunereal coat, a pair of spectacles, and a hat with a desponding brim,and we spent the remainder of the evening roaming about and discussingmind and matter.
We had another council of war next day. It was a Sunday, and as we satin the window, smoking our pipes and watching the crowded street, webrooded over many plans for gaining notoriety.
"I've done Bob Sawyer's dodge," said Tom despondingly. "I never go tochurch without rushing out in the middle of the sermon, but no one knowswho I am, so it is no good. I had a nice slide in front of the door lastwinter for three weeks, and used to give it a polish up after dusk everynight. But there was only one man ever fell on it, and he actuallylimped right across the road to Markham's surgery. Wasn't that hardlines?"
"Very hard indeed," said I.
"Something might be done with orange peel," continued Tom, "but it looksso awfully bad to have the whole pavement yellow with peel in front of adoctor's house."
"It certainly does," I agreed.
"There was one fellow came in with a cut head one night," said Tom, "andI sewed him up, but he had forgotten his purse. He came back in a weekto have the stitches taken out, but without the money. That man is goingabout to this day, Jack, with half a yard of my catgut in him--and inhim it'll stay until I see the coin."
"Couldn't we get up some incident," said I, "which would bring your namereally prominently before the public?"
"My dear fellow, that's exactly what I want. If I could get my name intothe _Brisport Chronicle_ it would be worth five hundred a year to me.There's a family connection, you know, and people only want to realisethat I am here. But how am I to do it unless by brawling in the streetor by increasing my family? Now, there was the excitement about thediscopherous bone. If Huxley or some of these fellows had taken thematter up it might have been the making of me. But they took it all inwith a disgusting complacency as if it was the most usual thing in theworld and dominoes were the normal food of ducks. I'll tell you whatI'll do," he continued, moodily eyeing his fowls. "I'll puncture thefloors of their fourth ventricles and present them to Markham. You knowthat makes them ravenous, and they'd eat him out of house and home intime. Eh, Jack?"
"Look here, Thomas," said I, "you want your name in the papers--is thatit?"
"That's about the state of the case."
"Well, by Jove, you shall have it."
"Eh? Why? How?"
"There's a pretty considerable crowd of people outside, isn't there,Tom?" I continued. "They are coming out of church, aren't they? If therewas an accident now it would make some noise."
"I say, you're not going to let rip among them with a shot gun, are you,in order to found a practice for me?"
"No, not exactly. But how would this read in tomorrow's_Chronicle_?--'Painful occurrence in George Street.--As the congregationwere leaving George Street Cathedral after the morning service, theywere horrified to see a handsome, fashionably dressed gentleman staggerand fall senseless upon the pavement. He was taken up and carriedwrithing in terrible convulsions into the surgery of the well-knownpractitioner Doctor Crabbe, who had been promptly upon the spot. We arehappy to state that the fit rapidly passed off, and that, owing to theskilful attention which he received, the gentleman, who is adistinguished visitor in our city, was able to regain his hotel and isnow rapidly becoming convalescent.' How would that do, eh?"
"Splendid, Jack--splendid!"
"Well, my boy, I'm your fashionably dressed stranger, and I promise youthey won't carry me into Markham's."
"My dear fellow, you are a treasure--you won't mind my bleeding you?"
"Bleeding me, confound you! Yes, I do very much mind."
"Just opening a little vein," pleaded Tom.
"Not a capillary," said I. "Now, look here; I'll throw up the wholebusiness unless you give me your word to behave yourself. I don't drawthe line at brandy."
"Very well, brandy be it," grumbled Tom.
"Well, I'm off," said I. "I'll go into the fit against your gardengate."
"All right, old man."
"By the way, what sort of a fit would you like? I could give you eitheran epileptic or an apoplectic easily, but perhaps you'd like somethingmore ornate--a catalepsy or a trade spasm, maybe--with miner's nystagmusor something of that kind?"
"Wait a bit till I think," said Tom, and he sat puffing at his pipe forfive minutes. "Sit down again, Jack," he continued. "I think we could dosomething better than this. You see, a fit isn't a very deadly thing,and if I did bring you through one there would be no credit in it. If weare going to work this thing, we may as well work it well. We can onlydo it once. It wouldn't do for the same fashionably dressed stranger tobe turning up a second time. People would begin to smell a rat."
"So they would," said I; "but hang it, you can't expect me to tumble offthe cathedral spire, in order that you may hold an inquest on myremains! I You may command me in anything reasonable, however. Whatshall it be?"
Tom seemed lost in thought. "Can you swim?" he said presently.
"Fairly well."
"You could keep yourself afloat for five minutes?"
"Yes, I could do that."
"You're not afraid of water?"
"I'm not much afraid of anything."
"Then come out," said Tom, "and we'll go over the ground."
I couldn't get one word out of him as to his intentions, so I trottedalong beside him, wondering what in the wide world he was going to do.Our first stoppage was at a small dock which is crossed by a swingingiron bridge. He hailed an amphibious man with top-boots. "Do you keeprowing-boats and let them out?" he asked.
"Yes, sir," said the man.
"Then good day," and to the boatman's profound and audible disgust weset off at once in the other direction.
Our next stoppage was at the Jolly Mariner's Arms. Did they keep beds?Yes, they kept beds. We then proceeded to the chemist's. Did he keep agalvanic battery? Once again the answer was in the affirmative, and witha satisfied smile Tom Crabbe headed for home once more, leaving somevery angry people behind him.
That evening over a bowl of punch he revealed his plan--and the councilof three revised it, modified it, and ended by adopting it, with theimmediate result that I at once changed my quarters to the BrisportHotel.
I was awakened next day by the sun streaming in at my bedroom window. Itwas a glorious morning. I sprang out of bed and looked at my watch. Itwas nearly nine o'clock. "Only an hour," I muttered, "and nearly a mileto walk," and proceeded to dress with all the haste I could. "Well," Isoliloquised as I sharpened my razor, "if old Tom Crabbe doesn't get hisname in the papers to-day, it isn't my fault. I wonder if any friendwould do as much for me!" I finished my toilet, swallowed a cup ofcoffee and sallied out.
Brisport seemed unusually lively this morning. The streets were crowdedwith people. I wormed my way down Waterloo Street through the old Squareand past Crabbe's house. The cathedral bells were chiming ten o'clock asI reached the above-mentioned little dock with the iron swinging bridge.A man was standing on the bridge leaning over the balustrades. There wasno mistaking the heart-broken hat rim and the spectacles of ThomasWaterhouse Crabbe, M.B.
I passed him without sign of recognition, dawdled a little on the quay,and then sauntered down to the boathouse. Our friend of yesterday wasstanding at the door with a short pipe in his mouth.
"Could I have a boat for an hour?" I asked.
He beamed all over. "One minute, sir," he said, "an' I'll get thesculls. Would you want me to row you, sir?"
"Yes, you'd better," I replied.
He bustled about, and in a short time managed to launch a leaky-lookingold tub, into which he stepped, while I squatted down in the sheets.
"Take me round the docks," I said. "I want to have a look at theshipping."
"Aye, aye, sir," said he, and away we went, and paddled about the docksfor the best part of an hour. At the end of that time we turned back andpulled up to the little quay from which he had started. It was pasteleven now and the place was crowded with people. Half Brisport seemedto have concentrated round the iron bridge. The melancholy hat was stillvisible.
"Shall I pull in, sir?" asked the boatman.
"Give me the sculls," said I. "I want a bit of exercise--let us changeplaces," and I stood up.
"Take care, sir!" yelled the boatman as I gave a stagger. "Look out!"and he made a frantic grab at me, but too late, for with a melodramaticscream I reeled and fell over into the Brisport dock.
I hardly realised what it was I was going to do until I had done it. Itwas not a pleasant feeling to have the thick, clammy water closing overone's head. I struck the bottom with my feet, and shot up again to thesurface. The air seemed alive with shouts. "Heave a rope!" "Where's aboat-hook!" "Catch him!" "There he is!" The boatman managed to hit me mea smart blow on the head with something, an oar, I fancy, and I wentdown again, but not before I had got my lungs well filled with air. Icame up again and my top-booted friend seized me by the hair of my headas if he would tear my scalp off. "Don't struggle!" he yelled, "and I'llsave you yet." But I shook him off, and took another plunge. There wasno resisting him next time, however, for he got a boat-hook into mycollar, and though I kept my head under water as long as possible I wasignominiously hauled to land.
There I lay on the hard stones of the quay, feeling very much inclinedto laugh, but looking, no doubt, very blue and ghastly. "He's gone, poorchap!" said some one. "Send for a doc
tor." "Run, run to Markham." "Quitedead." "Turn him upside down." "Feel his pulse." "Slap him on the back."
"Stop," said a solemn voice--"stop! Can I be of any assistance? I am amedical man. What has occurred?"
"A man drowned," cried a score of voices. "Stand back, make a ring--roomfor the doctor!"
"My name is Doctor Crabbe. Dear me, poor young gentleman! Drop hishand," he roared at a man who was making for my pulse. "I tell you insuch a state the least pressure or impediment to the arterialcirculation might prove fatal."
To save my life I couldn't help giving a very audible inward chuckle atTom's presence of mind. There was a murmur of surprise among the crowd.Tom solemnly took off his hat. "The death rattle!" he whispered. "Theyoung soul has flown--yet perchance science may yet recall it. Bear himup to the tavern."
A shutter was brought, I was solemnly hoisted on to the top of it, andthe melancholy cortege passed along the quay, the corpse being reallythe most cheerful member of the company.
We got to the Mariner's Arms and I was stripped and laid in the bestbed. The news of the accident seemed to have spread, for there was asurging crowd in the street, and the staircase was thronged with people.Tom would only admit about a dozen of the more influential of thetownspeople into the room, but issued bulletins out of the window everyfive minutes to the crowd below.
"Quite dead," I heard him roar. "Respiration has ceased--nopulsation--but we still persevere, it is our duty."
"Shall I bring brandy?" said the landlady.
"Yes, and towels, and a hip bath and a basin--but the brandy first."
This sentiment met with the hearty approbation of the corpse.
"Why, he's drinking it," said the landlady, as she applied the glass tomy lips.
"Merely an instance of a reflex automatic action," said Tom. "My goodwoman, any corpse will drink brandy if you only apply it to theglossopharyngeal tract. Stand aside and we will proceed to try MarshallHall's method of resuscitation."
The citizens stood round in a solemn ring, while Tom stripped off hiscoat and, climbing on the bed, proceeded to roll me about in a mannerwhich seemed to dislocate every bone in my body.
"Hang it, man, stop!" I growled, but he only paused to make a dart forthe window and yell out "No sign of life," and then fell upon me withgreater energy than ever. "We will now try Sylvestre's method," he said,when the perspiration was fairly boiling out of him; and with that heseized me again, and performed a series of evolutions even moreexcruciating than the first. "It is hopeless!" he said at last, stoppingand covering my head reverently with the bed-clothes. "Send for thecoroner! He has gone to a better land. Here is my card," he continued toan inspector of police who had arrived. "Doctor Crabbe of George Street.You will see that the matter is accurately reported. Poor young man!"And Tom drew his handkerchief across his eyes and walked towards thedoor, while a groan of sympathy rose from the crowd outside.
He had his hand upon the handle when a thought seemed to strike him, andhe turned back. "There is yet a possible hope," he said, "we have nottried the magical effects of electricity--that subtle power, next of kinto nervous force. Is there a chemist's near?"
"Yes, doctor, there's Mr. McLagan just round the corner."
"Then run! run! A human life trembles in the balance--get his strongestbattery, quick!" And away went half the crowd racing down the street andtumbling over each other in the effort to be first at Mr. McLagan's.They came back very red and hot, and one of them bore a shining brownmahogany box in his arms which contained the instrument in question.
"Now, gentlemen," said Tom, "I believe I may say that I am the firstpractitioner in Great Britain who has applied electricity to this use.In my student days I have seen the learned Rokilansky of Vienna employit in some such way. I apply the negative pole over the solar plexus,while the positive I place on the inner side of the patella. I have seenit produce surprising effects; it may again in this case."
It certainly did. Whether it was an accident or whether Tom's innatereckless devilry got the better of him I cannot say. He himself alwaysswore that it was an accident, but at any rate he sent the strongestcurrent of a most powerful battery rattling and crashing through mysystem. I gave one ear-splitting yell and landed with a single boundinto the middle of the room. I was charged with electricity like aLeyden jar. My very hair bristled with it.
"You confounded idiot!" I shouted, shaking my fist in Tom's face. "Isn'tit enough to dislocate every bone in my body with your ridiculousresuscitations without ruining my constitution with this thing?" and Igave a vicious kick at the mahogany box. Never was there such astampede! The inspector of police and the correspondent of the_Chronicle_ sprang down the staircase, followed by the twelverespectable citizens. The landlady crawled under the bed. A lodger whowas nursing her baby while she conversed with a neighbour in the streetbelow let the child drop upon her friend's head. In fact Tom might havefounded the nucleus of a practice there and then. As it was, his usualpresence of mind carried him through. "A miracle!" he yelled from thewindow. "A miracle! Our friend has been brought back to us; send for acab." And then _sotto voce_, "For goodness' sake, Jack, behave like aChristian and crawl into bed again. Remember the landlady is in the roomand don't go prancing about in your shirt."
"Hang the landlady," said I, "I feel like a lightning conductor--you'veruined me!"
"Poor fellow," cried Tom, once more addressing the crowd, "he is alive,but his intellect is irretrievably affected. He thinks he is a lightningconductor. Make way for the cab. That's right! Now help me to lead himin. He is out of all danger now. He can dress at his hotel. If any ofyou have any information to give which may throw light upon this case myaddress is 81 George Street. Remember, Doctor Crabbe, 81 George Street.Good day, kind friends, good-bye!" And with that he bundled me into thecab to prevent my making any further disclosures, and drove off amid theenthusiastic cheers of the admiring crowd.
I could not stay in Brisport long enough to see the effect of my _coupd'etat_. Tom gave us a champagne supper that night, and the fun was fastand furious, but in the midst of it a telegram from my principal washanded in ordering me to return to Manchester by the next train. Iwaited long enough to get an early copy of the _Brisport Chronicle_, andbeguiled the tedious journey by perusing the glowing account of mymishap. A column and a half was devoted to Dr. Crabbe and theextraordinary effects of electricity upon a drowned man. It ultimatelygot into some of the London papers, and was gravely commented upon inthe _Lancet_.
As to the pecuniary success of our little experiment I can only judgefrom the following letter from Tom Crabbe, which I transcribe exactly asI received it:
"WHAT HO! MY RESUSCITATED CORPSE,
"You want to know how all goes in Brisport, I suppose. Well, I'll tell you. I'm cutting Markham and Davidson out completely, my boy. The day after our little joke I got a bruised leg (that baby), a cut head (the woman the baby fell upon), an erysipelas, and a bronchitis. Next day a fine rich cancer of Markham's threw him up and came over to me. Also a pneumonia and a man who swallowed a sixpence. I've never had a day since without half a dozen new names on the list, and I'm going to start a trap this week. Just let me know when you are going to set up, and I'll manage to run down, old man, and give you a start in business, if I have to stand on my head in the water-butt. Good-bye. Love from the Missus.
"Ever yours, "THOMAS WATERHOUSE CRABBE, "M.B. Edin.
"81 George Street, "Brisport."
THE END
By SIR ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE
_Novels and Stories_
DANGER! _And Other Stories_
THE DOINGS OF RAFFLES HAW
HIS LAST BOW _Some Latin Reminiscences of Sherlock Holmes_
THE BLACK DOCTOR _And Other Tales of Terror and Mystery_
THE MAN FROM ARCHANGEL _And Other Tales of Adventure_
THE CROXLEY MASTER _And Other Tales of the Ring and Camp_
; THE GREAT KEINPLATZ EXPERIMENT _And Other Tales of Twilight and the Unseen_
THE LAST OF THE LEGIONS _And Other Tales of Long Ago_
THE DEALINGS OF CAPTAIN SHARKEY _And Other Tales of Pirates_
_On the Life Hereafter_
THE NEW REVELATION THE VITAL MESSAGE THE COMING OF THE FAIRIES THE CASE FOR SPIRIT PHOTOGRAPHY THE WANDERINGS OF A SPIRITUALIST OUR AMERICAN ADVENTURE
_A History of the Great War_
THE BRITISH CAMPAIGN IN FRANCE AND FLANDERS--Six Vols.
_Poems_
THE GUARDS CAME THROUGH
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