My Doggie and I by R. M. Ballantyne (free e books to read .TXT) 📖

“It was a young gentleman who rescued most of the doctor’s family from a fire last night. His name, I believe, is Mellon—”

“Wot! Doctor John Mellon?” exclaimed Slidder, with widening eyes.

“Whether he’s John or doctor I cannot tell. All I know is that he’s Mister Mellon, and he’s bin rather knocked up by— But, bless me, I forgot: I was to say nothing about the—the fire till Dr McTougall had seen you. How stoopid of me; but things will slip out!”

He stopped abruptly, and placed his brown paper parcel on the bed.

“Now, I say, look here, Mister Six-foot or wotever’s your name,” said Slidder, with intense eagerness. “It’s of no use your tyin’ up the mouth o’ the bag now. The cat’s got out an’ can’t be got in again by no manner o’ means. Just make a clean breast of it, an’ tell it all out like a man,—there’s a good feller! If you don’t, I’ll tell Dr McTougall that you gave me an’ the old lady a full, true, an’ partikler account o’ the whole affair, from the fust bustin’ out o’ the flames, an’ the calling o’ the ingines, to the last crash o’ the fallin’ roof, and the roastin’ alive of the ’ousehold cat. I will, as sure as you’re a six-foot flunkey!”

Thus adjured and threatened, the gossipy footman made a clean breast of it. He told them how that I had acted like a hero at the fire, and then, after giving, in minute detail, an account of all that the reader already knows, he went on to say that the whole family, except Dr McTougall, was laid up with colds; that the governess was in a high fever; that the maid-servants, having been rescued on the shoulders of firemen from the attics, were completely broken down in their nerves; and that I had received an injury to my right leg, which, although I had said nothing about it on the night of the fire, had become so much worse in the morning that I could scarcely walk across the room. In these circumstances, he added, Dr McTougall had agreed to visit my poor people for me until I should recover.

“You see,” continued the footman, “I only heard a little of their conversation. Dr McTougall was saying when I come into the room: ‘Well, Mr Mellon,’ he said, ‘you must of necessity remain where you are, and you could not, let me tell you, be in better quarters. I will look after your patients till you are able to go about again—which won’t be long, I hope—and I’ll make a particular note of your old woman, and send her some wine and things immediately.’ I suppose he meant you, ma’am,” added the footman, “but having to leave the room again owing to some of the children howling for jam and pudding, I heard no more.”

Having thus delivered himself of his tale and parcel, the tall footman took his leave with many expressions of good-will.

“Now, granny,” remarked young Slidder, as he untied the parcel, and spread its contents on the small deal table, “I’ve got a wague suspicion that the ’ouse w’ich ’as gone to hashes is the wery ’ouse in w’ich Dr Mellon put his little dog last night. ’Cause why? Ain’t it the same identical street, an’ the same side o’ the street, and about the same part o’ the street? An’ didn’t both him and me forgit to ask the name o’ the people o’ the ’ouse, or to look at the number—so took up was we with partin’ from Punch? Wot more nat’ral than for him to go round on ’is way back to look at the ’ouse—supposin’ he was too late to call? Then, didn’t that six-footer say a terrier dog was reskooed from the lower premises? To be sure there’s many a terrier dog in London, but then didn’t he likewise say that the gov’ness o’ the family is a pretty gal? Wot more likely than that she’s my young lady? All that, you see, granny, is what the magistrates would call presumptuous evidence. But I’ll go and inquire for myself this wery evenin’ w’en you’re all settled an comf’rable, an’ w’en I’ve got Mrs Jones to look arter you.”

That evening, accordingly, when Robin Slidder—as I shall now call him—was away making his inquiries, Dr McTougall called on Mrs Willis. She was very weak and low at the time. The memory of her lost Edie had been heavy upon her, and she felt strangely disinclined to talk. The kindly doctor did not disturb her more than was sufficient to fully investigate her case.

When about to depart he took Mrs Jones into the passage.

“Now, my good woman,” he said, “I hope you will see the instructions you heard me give to Mrs Willis carried out. She is very low, but with good food and careful nursing may do well. Can you give her much of your time?”

“La, sir! yes. I’m a lone woman, sir, with nothin’ to do but take care of myself; an’ I’m that fond of Mrs Willis—she’s like my own mother.”

“Very good. And what of this boy who has come to live with her? D’you think he is steady—to be depended on?”

“Indeed I do, sir!” replied Mrs Jones, with much earnestness. “Though he did come from nowheres in partiklar, an’ don’t b’long to nobody, he’s a good boy, is little Slidder, and a better nurse you’ll not find in all the hospitals.”

“I wish I had found him at home. Will you give him this card, and tell him to call on me to-morrow morning between eight and nine? Let him ask particularly for me—Dr McTougall. I’m not in my own house, but in a friend’s at present; I was burnt out of my house last night.”

“Oh, sir!” exclaimed Mrs Jones with a shocked expression.

“Yes; accidents will happen, you know, to the most careful among us, Mrs Jones,” said the little doctor, with a smile, as he drew on his gloves. “Good evening. Take care of your patient now; I’m much interested in her case—because of the young doctor who visits her sometimes.”

“Dr Mellon?” exclaimed the woman.

“Yes. You know him?”

“Know him! I should think I do! He has great consideration for the poor. Ah! he is a gentleman, is Mr Mellon!”

“He is more than a gentleman, Mrs Jones,” said the little doctor with a kindly nod, as he turned and hurried away.

It may perhaps seem to savour of vanity and egotism my recording this conversation, but I do it chiefly for the purpose of showing how much of hearty gratitude there is for mere trifles among the poor, for the woman who was thus complimentary to me never received a farthing of money from my hands, and I am not aware of having ever taken any notice of her, except now and then wishing her a respectful good-evening, and making a few inquiries as to her health.

That night Dr McTougall came to me, on returning from his rounds, to report upon my district. I was in bed at the time, and suffering considerable pain from my bruised and swollen limb. Dumps was lying at my feet—dried, refreshed, and none the worse for his adventures. I may mention that I occupied a comfortable room in the house of the “City man,” who insisted on my staying with him until I should be quite able to walk to my lodgings. As Dr McTougall had taken my district, a brief note to Mrs Miff, my landlady, relieved my mind of all anxieties, professional and domestic, so that my doggie and I could enjoy ourselves as well as the swollen leg would permit.

“My dear young friend,” said the little doctor, as he entered, “your patients are all going on admirably, and as I mean to send my assistant to them regularly, you may make your mind quite easy. I’ve seen your old woman too, and she is charming. I don’t wonder you lost your heart to her. Your young protégé, however, was absent—the scamp!—but he had provided a good nurse to take his place in the person of Mrs Jones.”

“I know her—well,” said I; “she is a capital nurse. Little Slidder has, I am told, been here in your absence, but unfortunately the maid who opened the door to him would not let him see me, as I happened to be asleep at the time. However, he’ll be sure to call again. But you have not told me yet how Miss Blythe is.”

“Well, I’ve not had time to tell you,” replied the doctor, with a smile. “I’m sorry to say she is rather feverish; the excitement and exposure to the night air were a severe trial to her, for although she is naturally strong, it is not long since she recovered from a severe illness. Nothing, however, surprises me so much as the way in which my dear wife has come through it all. It seems to have given her quite a turn in the right direction. Why, she used to be as timid as a mouse! Now she scoffs at burglars. After what occurred last night she says she will fear nothing under the sun. Isn’t it odd? As for the children, I’m afraid the event has roused all that is wild and savage in their natures! They were kicking up a horrible shindy when I passed the dining-room—the hospital, as Dobson calls it—so I opened the door and peeped in. There they were, all standing up on their beds, shouting ‘Fire! fire! p’leece! p’leece!—engines! escapes! Come qui-i-i-ck!’

“‘Silence!’ I shouted.

“‘Oh, papa!’ they screamed, in delight, ‘what do you think we’ve had for supper?’

“‘Well, what?’

“‘Pudding and jam-pudding and jam—nearly all jam!’

“Then they burst again into a chorus of yells for engines and fire-escapes, while little Dolly’s voice rang high above the rest ‘Pudding and dam!—all dam!—p’leece! p’leece! fire and feeves!’ as I shut the door.

“But now, a word in your ear before I leave you for the night. Perhaps it may not surprise you to be told that I have an extensive practice. After getting into a new house, which I must do immediately, I shall want an assistant, who may in course of time, perhaps, become a partner. D’you understand? Are you open to a proposal?”

“My dear sir,” said I, “your kindness is very great, but you know that I am not yet—”

“Yes, yes, I know all about that. I merely wish to inject an idea into your brain, and leave it there to fructify. Go to sleep now, my dear young fellow, and let me wish you agreeable dreams.”

With a warm squeeze of the hand, and a pleasant nod, my new friend said good-night, and left me to my meditations.