The Doctor [35]
and on the class lists, in spite of his many distractions, he had ranked a double first. Best of all, it filled him with warm gratitude to remember that none of his fellows had grudged him any of his good things. What a decent lot they were! It humbled him to think of their pride in him. He would not disappoint them. Noblesse oblige.
At the crest of the hill he paused to look back, and here the pain that had been running below his consciousness, like the minor strain in rich music, came to the top. This was Barney's spot. At this spot Barney always made him pause to look back upon the old mill in its frame of beauty. Poor Barney! Twice he had gone down to the exams, and twice he had failed. Of all in the home circle only Dick could understand the full bitterness of the cup of humiliation that his brother had put silently to his lips and drained. To his mother, the failure brought no surprise, and she would have been glad enough to have him give up "his notion of being a doctor and be content with the mill." She had no ambitions for poor Barney, who was "a quiet lad and well-doing enough," an encomium which stood for all the virtues removed from any touch of genius. She was not hurt by his failure. Indeed, she could hardly understand how deep the shame had gone into his proud, reserved heart. His father did not talk about it, but carried him off to look at some of the mill machinery which had gone wrong, and it was only by a gentler tone in his voice that Barney knew that his father understood. But Dick, with his fuller knowledge of college life, realized as none other of them did the extent of Barney's miserable sense of defeat.
And now, as he looked back upon the mill, Barney's pain became his anew. The causes of his failure were not far to seek. "He had no chance!" said Dick aloud, leaning upon the top rail and looking with gloomy eyes upon the scene of beauty before him. Things had changed since old Doctor Ferguson's time. The scientific basis of medicine was coming to its place in medical study, and the old doctor's contempt for these new-fangled notions had wrought ill for Barney. Dick remembered how he had gone, hot with indignation for his brother, to the new English professor in chemistry, whose papers were the terror of all pass men and, indeed, all honour men who stuck too closely to the text-book. He remembered the Englishman's drawling contempt as, after looking up Barney's name and papers, he dismissed the matter with the words, "He knows nothing whatever about the subject, couldn't conduct the simplest experiment, don't you know." Poor Barney! the ancient and elementary chemistry of Dr. Ferguson seemed to hold not even the remotest affinity to that which Professor Fish expected. Dick was glad this morning that he had had sense enough to hold his tongue in the professor's presence. It comforted him to recall the generous enthusiasm with which Dr. Trent, the most brilliant surgeon on the staff, had recalled Barney's name.
"Your brother, is he? Well, sir, he's a wonder!"
"Fish doesn't think so," Dick had replied.
"Oh! Fish be hanged!" the doctor had answered, with the fine contempt of a specialist in practical work for the theorist in medicine. He has some idiotic notions in his head that he plucks men for not knowing. I don't say they are not necessary, but useful chiefly for examination purposes. Send your brother down. Send him down. For if ever I saw an embryonic surgeon, he's one! When he comes, bring him to me."
"He'll come," Dick had answered, his face hot to think that it was for his sake Barney had remained grinding at home.
"And he's going this fall," said Dick aloud, "or no 'varsity for me." He pulled a letter out of his pocket. It was from his football comrade, young Macdonald, offering, in his father's name, to Barney and himself positions in one of the lumber mills far up the Ottawa, where, by working overtime, there was a chance of making $100 a month and all found. "And we'll make it go," said Dick. "There's $300 apiece for us, and that's more
At the crest of the hill he paused to look back, and here the pain that had been running below his consciousness, like the minor strain in rich music, came to the top. This was Barney's spot. At this spot Barney always made him pause to look back upon the old mill in its frame of beauty. Poor Barney! Twice he had gone down to the exams, and twice he had failed. Of all in the home circle only Dick could understand the full bitterness of the cup of humiliation that his brother had put silently to his lips and drained. To his mother, the failure brought no surprise, and she would have been glad enough to have him give up "his notion of being a doctor and be content with the mill." She had no ambitions for poor Barney, who was "a quiet lad and well-doing enough," an encomium which stood for all the virtues removed from any touch of genius. She was not hurt by his failure. Indeed, she could hardly understand how deep the shame had gone into his proud, reserved heart. His father did not talk about it, but carried him off to look at some of the mill machinery which had gone wrong, and it was only by a gentler tone in his voice that Barney knew that his father understood. But Dick, with his fuller knowledge of college life, realized as none other of them did the extent of Barney's miserable sense of defeat.
And now, as he looked back upon the mill, Barney's pain became his anew. The causes of his failure were not far to seek. "He had no chance!" said Dick aloud, leaning upon the top rail and looking with gloomy eyes upon the scene of beauty before him. Things had changed since old Doctor Ferguson's time. The scientific basis of medicine was coming to its place in medical study, and the old doctor's contempt for these new-fangled notions had wrought ill for Barney. Dick remembered how he had gone, hot with indignation for his brother, to the new English professor in chemistry, whose papers were the terror of all pass men and, indeed, all honour men who stuck too closely to the text-book. He remembered the Englishman's drawling contempt as, after looking up Barney's name and papers, he dismissed the matter with the words, "He knows nothing whatever about the subject, couldn't conduct the simplest experiment, don't you know." Poor Barney! the ancient and elementary chemistry of Dr. Ferguson seemed to hold not even the remotest affinity to that which Professor Fish expected. Dick was glad this morning that he had had sense enough to hold his tongue in the professor's presence. It comforted him to recall the generous enthusiasm with which Dr. Trent, the most brilliant surgeon on the staff, had recalled Barney's name.
"Your brother, is he? Well, sir, he's a wonder!"
"Fish doesn't think so," Dick had replied.
"Oh! Fish be hanged!" the doctor had answered, with the fine contempt of a specialist in practical work for the theorist in medicine. He has some idiotic notions in his head that he plucks men for not knowing. I don't say they are not necessary, but useful chiefly for examination purposes. Send your brother down. Send him down. For if ever I saw an embryonic surgeon, he's one! When he comes, bring him to me."
"He'll come," Dick had answered, his face hot to think that it was for his sake Barney had remained grinding at home.
"And he's going this fall," said Dick aloud, "or no 'varsity for me." He pulled a letter out of his pocket. It was from his football comrade, young Macdonald, offering, in his father's name, to Barney and himself positions in one of the lumber mills far up the Ottawa, where, by working overtime, there was a chance of making $100 a month and all found. "And we'll make it go," said Dick. "There's $300 apiece for us, and that's more