Dr Thorne - Anthony Trollope [76]
‘It is no use,’ said he to himself, ‘for that messenger has already gone to Barchester.’
‘I have sent for Dr Fillgrave,’ were the first words which the contractor said to him when he again found himself by the bedside.
‘Did you call me back to tell me that?’ said Thorne, who now really felt angry at the impertinent petulance of the man before him: ‘you should consider, Scatcherd, that my time may be of value to others, if not to you.’
‘Now don’t be angry, old fellow,’ said Scatcherd, turning to him, and looking at him with a countenance quite different from any that he had shown that day: a countenance in which there was a show of manhood – some show also of affection. ‘You ain’t angry now because I’ve sent for Fillgrave?’
‘Not in the least,’ said the doctor, very complacently. ‘Not in the least. Fillgrave will do you as much good as I can do you.’
‘And that’s none at all, I suppose; eh, Thorne?’
‘That depends on yourself. He will do you good if you will tell him the truth, and will then be guided by him. Your wife, your servant, anyone can be as good a doctor to you as either he or I; as good, that is, in the main point. But you have sent for Fillgrave now; and of course you must see him. I have much to do, and you must let me go.’
Scatcherd, however, would not let him go, but held his hand fast. ‘Thorne,’ said he, ‘if you like it, I’ll make them put Fillgrave under the pump directly he comes here. I will indeed, and pay all the damage myself.’
This was another proposition to which the doctor could not consent; but he was utterly unable to refrain from laughing. There was an earnest look of entreaty about Sir Roger’s face as he made the suggestion; and, joined to this, there was a gleam of comic satisfaction in his eye which seemed to promise, that if he received the least encouragement he would put his threat into execution. Now our doctor was not inclined to taking any steps towards subjecting his learned brother to pump discipline; but he could not but admit to himself that the idea was not a bad one.
‘I’ll have it done, I will, by heavens! if you’ll only say the word,’ protested Sir Roger.
But the doctor did not say the word, and so the idea passed off.
‘You shouldn’t be testy with a man when he’s ill,’ said Scatcherd, still holding the doctor’s hand, of which he had again got possession; ‘specially not an old friend; and specially again when you’ve been a-blowing of him up.’
It was not worth the doctor’s while to aver that the testiness had all been on the other side, and that he had never lost his good-humour; so he merely smiled, and asked Sir Roger if he could do anything further for him.
‘Indeed you can, doctor; and that’s why I sent for you – why I sent for you yesterday. Get out of the room, Winterbones,’ he then said, gruffly, as though he were dismissing from his chamber a dirty dog. Winterbones, not a whit offended, again hid his cup under his coat-tail and vanished.
‘Sit down, Thorne, sit down,’ said the contractor, speaking quite in a different manner from any that he had yet assumed. ‘I know you’re in a hurry, but you must give me half an hour. I may be dead before you can give me another; who knows?’
The doctor of course declared that he hoped to have many a half-hour’s chat with him for many a year to come.
‘Well, that’s as may be. You must stop now, at any rate. You can make the cob pay for it, you know.’
The doctor took a chair and sat down. Thus entreated to stop, he had hardly any alternative but to do so.
‘It wasn’t because I’m ill that I sent for you, or rather let her ladyship send for you. Lord bless you, Thorne; do you think I don’t know what it is that makes me like this? When I see that poor wretch, Winterbones, killing himself with gin, do you think I don’t know what’s coming to myself as well as him?’
‘Why do you take it then? Why do you do it? Your life is not like his. Oh, Scatcherd! Scatcherd!’ and the doctor prepared to pour out the flood of his eloquence in beseeching this singular man to abstain from his well-known