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Geoffrey Strong, a novel by Laura E. Richards |
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Chapter 4. Mostly Professional |
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_ CHAPTER IV. MOSTLY PROFESSIONAL "I fear Doctor Strong will be very much put out!" said Miss Phoebe Blyth. Miss Vesta sighed, and stirred her coffee delicately. "It is unfortunate!" she said. "Unfortunate! my dearest Vesta, it is calamitous. Just when he is comfortably settled in surroundings which he feels to be congenial"-- Miss Phoebe bridled, and glanced round the pleasant dining-room-- "to have these surroundings invaded by what he dislikes most in the world, a girl, and a sick girl at that; I tell you it would not surprise me if he should give notice at once." This was not quite true, for Miss Phoebe would have been greatly surprised at Doctor Strong's doing anything of the kind; but she enjoyed saying it, and felt rather better after it. "We could not possibly refuse, though, Sister Phoebe," said Miss Vesta, mildly. "Little Vesta being my name-child, and Brother Nathaniel without faculty, as one may say,--and it is certainly no place for her at home." "My dearest Vesta, I have not been entirely deprived of my senses!" Miss Phoebe spoke with some asperity. "Of course we cannot refuse, and of course we must do our utmost for our brother's motherless child; but none the less, it is calamitous, I repeat; and I am positive that Doctor Strong will be greatly annoyed." At this moment Geoffrey came in, full of apologies for his ten minutes' tardiness. The apologies were graciously received. The Miss Blyths would never have thought of such a thing as being late to breakfast themselves, but they were not ill-pleased to have their lodger, occasionally--not too often--sleep beyond the usual hour. It showed that he felt at home, Miss Phoebe said, and Miss Vesta, the mother-instinct brooding over the lad she loved, thought he needed all the sleep he could get, and more. "It's really disgraceful!" said the young doctor for the third time, as he drew his chair up to the table. "Yes, please, three lumps. There never was such coffee in the world, Miss Blyth. I believe the Sultan sends it to you from his own private coffee-garden. Creamed chicken? won't I? and muffins, and marmalade,--what a blessing to be naturally greedy! More pain this morning, Miss Blyth? I hope not." His quick eye had seen the cloud on his hostess's brow, and he was all attention and sympathy over his coffee-cup. "I thank you, Doctor Strong; I feel little pain this morning; in fact, I may almost say none. But I--we have been somewhat disturbed by the contents of a letter we have received." "Bad news?" cried Geoffrey. "I'm so sorry! Is there anything I can do, Miss Blyth? You will command me, of course; send telegrams or--" "I--thank you! You are always most kind and considerate, Doctor Strong. The fact is"--Miss Phoebe hesitated, casting about in her mind for the best way of breaking the news,--"the fact is, my brother is a widower." "Very sad, I'm sure!" murmured Geoffrey Strong. "Was it sudden? these shocks are terribly trying. How did she--" "Oh--no! you misapprehend me, Doctor Strong. Not sudden, nor--nor what you would call recent. It is some years since Nathaniel's wife died." "Old gentleman going to pass away himself?" said Geoffrey, but not aloud; he was aware of his tendency to headlong plunges; it was manifestly better to wait further explanations and not commit himself. "My brother has an only daughter," Miss Phoebe went on, "a girl of twenty. She has been at college (I strongly disapproved of her going, but the child is headstrong), and has worked beyond her strength. She-- that is, her father, is anxious for her to come and pass a month or two with us; he thinks the sea air will benefit her." "No doubt it will!" said Geoffrey, still awaiting the catastrophe. It was a great bore, of course, in fact a nuisance, but it couldn't be helped. "This--this is what has troubled us, Doctor Strong. We fear, my sister and I, that the presence of a young--person of the other sex-- will be disturbing to you." Miss Vesta looked up quickly, but said nothing. Geoffrey looked bewildered for a moment, then laughed aloud, colouring like a schoolboy. "Why, Miss Blyth, what must you think of me?" he said. "I am not particularly given to--to the society of young ladies, but I am not such a misogynist as all that." Miss Phoebe did not know what a misogynist was, and did not like to ask; there were so many dangerous and levelling doctrines about, as her father always said. Whatever it was, she was heartily glad that Doctor Strong did not believe in it. "Vesta is a good child," said Miss Vesta. "She makes no noise or trouble in the house, even when she is well. We shall of course see that your convenience is not interfered with in any way, Doctor Strong." "If you talk like that, I shall pack my trunk and go to-morrow," said Geoffrey, decidedly; "and I don't want to go a bit. It's I who am likely to be in the way, so far as I can see; but you won't send me off just yet, will you?" When Geoffrey Strong smiled, people were apt to do what he wished, unless they were ill-conditioned people indeed, and Miss Phoebe and Miss Vesta were far from ill-conditioned. "I've never been so happy anywhere," the young man went on in his eager way, "since--since my own home was broken up. I'd stay if you would let me, if there were twenty--I--I mean, of course it will be delightful to--may I have another muffin, please? Thanks!" Geoffrey had broken short off, being a person of absolute honesty. "I trust your niece is not seriously out of health," he said, in conclusion, with his most professional air. "Is any malady indicated, or merely overfatigue?" Miss Phoebe put on her spectacles and took up the letter. "There is a word," she said, "that I did not understand, I must confess. If you will allow me, Doctor Strong, I will read you a portion of my brother's remarks. A--yes! 'Vesta seems very far from well. She cries, and will not eat, and she looks like a ghost. The doctor calls it neurasthenia.'" Doctor Strong uttered an exclamation. Miss Phoebe looked up in dismay. "It is nothing contagious, I trust, Doctor Strong?" "No! no! nothing of the kind. Go on, please! any more symptoms?" "I think not. She has no appetite, he says, and does not sleep well. He says nothing of any rash." Miss Phoebe looked anxiously at the young doctor. To her amazement, he was leaning forward, muffin in hand, his face wearing its brightest and most eager look. "Is that all?" he said. "Well--of course that's not professional. Very likely the physician there will send a written diagnosis if you ask him. You see, Miss Blyth, this is very interesting to me. I want to make a study of nerves,--that's all the word means, disordered nerves,--and it will be the greatest pleasure to me to try to be of service to your niece; if you should wish it, that is." "Oh, Doctor Strong! you are _too_ kind!" said both ladies in duet. They were so relieved, they overflowed in little grateful courtesies. He must have more cream; he was eating nothing. They feared his egg was not quite--was he positively sure? it would sometimes happen, with the greatest care, that eggs were not quite--a little scrap more bacon, then! or would he fancy some fresh cream cheese? and so on and so on, till the young doctor cried out, and said that if he ate any more he should not be able to mount his bicycle, far less ride it. "By the way," he added, "I didn't see you when I came in last night. I hope I didn't disturb either of you. No? That's right; if I ever make a noise coming in late, shoot me at sight, please. You took the powder, Miss Blyth? and slept well? Hurrah! Well, I was going to say, I had a rather amusing time at Shellback." Shellback was a village some ten miles off, whither he had been summoned the evening before. Both ladies brightened up. They delighted to hear of the young doctor's experiences. "I don't suppose you know," Doctor Strong went on,--"no, you wouldn't be likely to,--an old man named Butters, Ithuriel Butters? Quaint name! suggests 'Paradise Lost' and buns. Old Man Butters they call him. Well, I went to see him; and I got a lesson in therapeutics, and two recipes for curing rheumatism, beside. I think I must try one of them on you, Miss Blyth." Miss Phoebe, who was literal, was about to assure him that she was amply satisfied with the remedies already in use; but he went on, in high enjoyment, evidently seeing almost with his bodily vision the figures he conjured up. "It seems the old gentleman didn't want me sent for; in fact, the family had done it on the sly, being alarmed at certain symptoms new to them. I got out there, and found the old fellow sitting in his armchair, smoking his pipe; fine-looking old boy, white hair and beard, and all that. Looked me all over, and asked me what I wanted. Wife and daughter kept out of the way, evidently scared at what they had done. I went in alone. I said I had come to see him. "'All right,' says he. 'No extra charge!' and he shut his eyes, and smoked away for dear life. Presently he opened his eyes, and looked at me again. "'Like my looks?' he says. "'Yes,' said I. I thought he might have returned the compliment, but he didn't; he only grunted. I waited a bit, talked of this and that; at last I said, 'How are you feeling this evening, Mr. Butters?' "'First-rate!' said he. 'How be you?' "'I'm all right,' said I,' but I don't believe you are, sir. You are not the right colour at all.' "'What colour be I? not green, I calc'late!' Then we both laughed, and felt better. I asked if I might smoke, too, and took out my pipe. Pretty soon the old fellow began to talk. "'My women-folks sent for you, did they? I suspicioned they had. Fact, I was slim this mornin'; took slim suddin, whilest I was milkin'. Didn't relish my victuals, and that scairt the woman. But I took my physic, and, come afternoon, I was spryer 'n a steer agin.' "'What is your physic, if I may ask, Mr. Butters?' "'Woodpile!' says the old fellow. "'Woodpile?' said I. "'Cord o' wood. Axe. Sweat o' the brow. Them's the best physic I know of.' "He smoked on for a bit, and I sat and looked at him, admiring how the world was made. I don't know whether you read Kipling, Miss Vesta. I was rewarded for my patience. "'Young feller,' said the old man, after awhile, 'how old do you s'pose I be?' "'Seventy,' said I; and he looked it, not a day over. "'Add fifteen to that,' says he, 'and you have it. Eighty-five year last Jenooary. You are under thirty, I reckon? Thought so! Well, I was gettin' on for sixty year old when you was born. See?' "I did see, but I wasn't going to give in yet. 'Did you ever study medicine, Mr. Butters?' I said. "'Study medicine? No, sir! but I've lived with my own bones and insides till I know 'em consid'able well; and I've seen consid'able of folks, them as doctored and them as didn't. My wives doctored, all three of 'em. I buried two of 'em, and good ones, too; and, like as not, I'll bury the third. She ain't none too rugged this summer, though she ain't but seventy. But, what I say is, start well, and stay well, and don't werry. You tell your patients that, and fust thing you know you won't have any.'" "A singularly ignorant person, this Mr. Butters!" said Miss Phoebe. "I don't know!" said the young doctor. "I'm not so sure about that. I know it would be a bad thing for the medical profession if his ideas were generally taken up. Well, he went on over his pipe. I wish you could have seen him, Miss Vesta. He looked like a veritable patriarch come to life. Fancy Abraham with a T.D. pipe, and you have Ithuriel Butters. Awfully sad for those poor old duffers not to have tobacco. I beg your pardon, Miss Blyth. "'Yes,' said the old fellow. 'I've seen folks as doctored, and I've seen folks as fooled.' "'Fooled?' said I. "'Notions; fool's tricks; idees! Take my brother Reuel. He used to have rheumatiz; had it bad. One day there was a thunder-storm, and he was out gettin' in his hay, and was struck by lightnin'. Fluid run along the rake and spit in his face, he used to say. He lost the use of his eyes and hands for six months, but he never had rheumatiz again for twenty years. Swore it was the electricity; said he swallered it, and it got into his system and cured him. What do you say to that, young feller?' "'It's an experiment I never tried,' said I. 'I'm not going to commit myself, Mr. Butters. But that's a good story.' "'Hold on!' said he; 'that ain't all. 'Bout twenty-five years after that--Reuel was gettin' on by that time--he was out fishin', and a squall come up and swamped his boat. He was in the water quite a spell, and come next day he was all doubled up with rheumatiz. He was the maddest man you ever see. He wouldn't do a thing, only sit hunched up in his chair and ask about the weather. It was summer-time, and good hayin' weather as a rule. Bumbye come a fryin' hot day, and sure enough we had a thunder-storm in the afternoon. When it was bangin' away good and solid, Reuel hitched himself out of his chair, took an iron rake in one hand and a hoe in the other, crep' out of the house, and went and sat down under a tree in the middle of the pasture. Wife tried to stop him, but she might as well have tried to stop the lightnin'. Well, sir, the tree was struck, and Reuel never had no more rheumatiz. Couldn't tell which was tree and which was him. That comes of havin' idees.'" "Dear me!" said Miss Vesta. "What a painful story! His poor wife!" "Such impious ignorance I think I never heard of!" said Miss Phoebe, rigidly. "I should think the--a--family a most unprofitable one for you to visit, Doctor Strong." "But so consistent!" said Geoffrey. "Knowing their own minds, and carrying out their own theories of hygiene. It's very refreshing, I must admit. But"--Geoffrey saw that his hostesses were not amused, nor anything but pained and shocked--"this is enough about Ithuriel Butters, isn't it? We decided that he would better take a little something dark-coloured, with a good solid smell to it, to please his 'women-folks;' he'll go out some day like the snuff of a candle, and he knows it. But you don't want to try the lightning cure, do you, Miss Blyth?" "I most certainly do not!" said Miss Phoebe, concisely; and she reflected that even the best and most intelligent of men might often be lacking in delicate perception. _ |
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