"Ah Doctor," replies the Master, laughing, "it's better for us than for you then; and yet, in the long run, if the truth was known, I expect you can score more kills than my hounds."
A busy man is Edward Wilson, Esq., M.D., with an increasing practice necessitating1 the[Pg 73] help of an assistant. Yet so devoted2 is he to hunting, that he thinks it a very hard case if he does not manage one day a-week with the hounds. As he rides up, the picture of robust3 health and the pink of neatness, one would scarcely imagine, as one listens to his chaffing about the weather and the paucity4 of patients, that he had had exactly two hours' sleep the night before, and was almost certain to find a message on his return home, calling him away some seven or eight miles, with the prospect5 of another nocturnal vigil. Yet such is the case. Yesterday afternoon, when he came back from his round, he had said to Thomas his coachman: "I shall manage a day to-morrow, Thomas; I don't think there is anything likely to happen, so have old Ladybird ready for me in the morning. They meet at Willowfield Lodge6, and are certain to draw towards home."
Just as he was going to bed, a groom7 from Lorton Towers came galloping9 into his yard with an urgent message "As 'ow Doctor wur[Pg 74] wanted at once; Lady Slowboy's took bad;" and away he had to go to assist the future Lord Slowboy on his "first appearance on any stage."
"Hang it all; she might have put it off," he said to himself as he buttoned his coat; "but I'm not going to lose my day's hunting for fifty heirs of Lorton;" and at 5.30 A.M., the ceremony being over, before turning in he gave orders that he was to be called at half-past seven, and at half-past ten he arrives, as we see him, hale and hearty10, at Willowfield Lodge.
Very well mounted is the Doctor, for he knows a horse when he sees one; and though he only keeps two—or rather, as he himself puts it, "one and a half" (the second one having to take him occasionally on professional trips)—they are both something above the average, and when hounds are running, Ladybird or Precipitate11, the two horses, are pretty nearly certain to be seen in the van. It does not require a second glance at the keen[Pg 75] eyes, the determined12 mouth, wreathed in a cheery smile, and the strong nervous hands, to show that before one is a man of iron will.
Prompt of decision, quick at diagnosing disease, with a heart full of sympathy for suffering, yet never faltering13 when forced to resort to the knife, Edward Wilson has made a name for himself second to none in that part of England. Indeed, over and over again his old friend and patron, Sir George Fennel, the great London physician, has urged him to migrate to town; but his answer is always the same:
"Couldn't live through one season. I must be in the fresh air; and if I did not see hounds now and then, I should pine away. Besides, I should miss all my old friends in Bullshire so; and as for fame, old Widow Fletcher and John Billings the blacksmith would not believe you if you told them there was a cleverer man than myself living! Poor souls! it shows their ignorance; but what more can I want?"
[Pg 76]
The Doctor is quite right. Among the poor he and the Parson run a neck-and-neck race for popularity. Perhaps from the fact of being associated with that, to them, great mystery—medicine—the Doctor is held in greater awe14; but they all remember how, hand-in-hand, the two fought death in the fever-time; and the great authorities I have mentioned—the widow and the blacksmith—assert that "Doctor ay does know summat about rheumatiz; ay's got some stuff as sends it away all in a jiff like."
It is fifteen years ago since Edward Wilson, then five-and-twenty, came down to Bullshire as assistant to old Dr. Johnstone. He rather astonished the methodical old practitioner15 with his theories, for the young Doctor, whose whole soul was in his profession, had read deeply and judiciously16, and was far in advance of the old-fashioned routine of blood-letting, cupping, and Epsom salts.
At first folks shook their heads, and muttered "Quackery17;" but one or two bad[Pg 77] cases, which had been given over as hopeless by the principal, being successfully pulled through by the assistant, they began to think that after all there was something in the young fellow; and the surgical18 skill he displayed when, together with every other available medical man, he was called to the scene of the fearful railway accident at Billingdon, confirmed their opinion.
A year after this, old Johnstone died suddenly, and Wilson, after a brisk competition, bought his practice. Directly he felt himself his own master, he allowed his ideas a free scope, and consequently in a very short time his undoubted talent made itself known throughout the country-side, and the practice increased so enormously that, young and energetic as he was, he found it necessary to take an assistant, choosing after much deliberation the son of an old college chum and fellow-student.
"Why, Doctor, who'd have thought of seeing you to-day? I thought you were at[Pg 78] Lorton all last night," exclaims Mr. Noble, Lord Slowboy's agent, who rides up as Sir John finishes his repartee19.
"So I was, Noble," replies our M.D., "but her ladyship, I am thankful to say, let me off at half-past five; and, as I was just telling Sir John, there being nothing else for me to do this weather, I thought I would come out on the chance of a job in the field."
"I hope you may be disappointed, then, for once. What a blood-thirsty villain20! Did you ever hear such a thing, Boulter?" says the Master to the Secretary, who has just arrived on a new steed.
"Hear what?" rejoins that worthy21.
"Why," continues Sir John, "the Doctor here says he saw you pass his window on that new horse, and has come out to follow in your wake all day, as he feels convinced you will break your neck, leg, or arm, or do something which he can turn into a fee."
[Pg 79]
"Don't you believe it," interrupts Mr. Wilson with a laugh; "it would not pay me to mend you, for directly you got well you'd be dunning me for a subscription22, and I might whistle for my fees. But look at Tom; he evidently thinks it is time to be moving. Who-ho, old lady" (to his horse), "who-ho," as old Tom, having got the signal, trots23 by with the pack, and, lifting his cap in response to the Doctor's greeting, says:
"Main glad to see you out, Doctor; hope we shall find a good 'un for you."
In a few minutes the hounds are thrown in, and Mr. Wilson finds himself with Mr. Halston (the clergyman) and Charles at a convenient corner of the covert24. As bad luck will have it, though, the fox breaks away on the far side.
"Bless my soul, this is rough," exclaims the Doctor; "come on;" and putting old Ladybird at the fence he goes crashing through the wood, followed by his two companions. As they emerge on the other side[Pg 80] they see the hounds streaming away some three fields off below them, and have the satisfaction of knowing that for once they have got as bad a start as could well be.
"It's for Blessington Osiers," says Charles. "If we cut across to the left and over the brook25 we shall hit it off."
"You are right, Charles," rejoins the Parson. "What do you say, Wilson?"
"For'ard on, then," replies the Doctor; and the trio gallop8 off almost in a contrary direction to the hounds. They negotiate the water in safety, and pull up by the side of the Osiers just as the hunted fox enters them. Charles rides off to the bottom end to view him through, and as Tom comes up with the pack his "Tailly-ho, for'ard a-w-a-i-y!" proclaims the fact that Reynard has not found Blessington a place of rest.
"Why, where the deuce have you arrived from?" is the universal question asked by all the field.
"Home," says the Doctor with a chuckle,[Pg 81] as he sets Ladybird going now in her proper place—in the front rank—and swings over a nasty fence with a double ditch. As he lands on the other side he notices the Secretary's nephew, a young lad who is riding a chestnut26 that is evidently as much as the boy can manage, and as his eye falls on the stiff timber which appears at the far end of the field he wonders what will happen. "Don't go too fast at the rails, my boy," he says. "Steady. My G—d, what a smash!" as the impetuous brute27 rushes at the fence, and, breasting the top rail, turns a regular somersault, throwing the boy, luckily, clear of him.
The Doctor is off his horse in a moment, and hounds and hunting are forgotten as he kneels by the side of the pale little face, supporting the lad's head on his breast, and feeling with professional skill for any injury.
"Stand back, gentlemen, please," he exclaims, as some of the field collect round.[Pg 82] "Give the boy air. There's nothing wrong beyond a slight shock and a broken arm. Ah Boulter, don't be alarmed," as the Secretary rides up. "Get him in a cart, and drive him home. I'll be round and set his arm directly."
"I'm all right, uncle," says the nephew, who has revived after a pull at the Doctor's flask28. "Let me go on."
"No, my boy, you can't go on. You've broken your arm, and will have to be quiet for a bit," replies Mr. Boulter.
"What a bore!" ejaculates the lad; but adds, with a twinkle in his eye, "You'll have to pay Doctor Wilson a fee after all, uncle."
Everybody laughs at this, and the Doctor mutters under his breath: "That's what I call pluck." Then, trotting29 off home to fetch his paraphernalia30, he is at The Grange almost as soon as the invalid31. After making him comfortable, the Doctor has to go off on other errands of mercy, and as he drives the seven miles to visit his next patient, he tells Thomas[Pg 83] that he is sorry to have missed the end of the run, but if anything could repay him it is the amount of pluck shown by the Secretary's little nephew.
Once a year he takes a two months' holiday, in July and August, when he, together with three old college chums, may be seen clad in blue serge and drinking in great draughts32 of health on the deck of the yacht which belongs to the eldest33 of them. They generally wind up with a fortnight at the grouse34, and then the Doctor returns to Bullshire with renewed life and with a fund of anecdote35 and adventures by sea and land, to hear him relate which is as good for a sick man as any of the prescriptions36 which he writes in his peculiarly neat handwriting.
Wherever he goes, castle or cottage, hall or homestead, his presence always cheers and lights up the sick-room, and Doctor Wilson's visit is looked forward to by the invalid as the pleasantest bit of his long day.
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1
necessitating
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| 使…成为必要，需要( necessitate的现在分词 ) | |
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devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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robust
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| adj.强壮的，强健的，粗野的，需要体力的，浓的 | |
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paucity
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| n.小量，缺乏 | |
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prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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lodge
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| v.临时住宿，寄宿，寄存，容纳；n.传达室，小旅馆 | |
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groom
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| vt.给（马、狗等）梳毛，照料，使...整洁 | |
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gallop
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| v./n.(马或骑马等)飞奔；飞速发展 | |
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galloping
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| adj. 飞驰的, 急性的 动词gallop的现在分词形式 | |
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hearty
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| adj.热情友好的；衷心的；尽情的，纵情的 | |
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precipitate
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| adj.突如其来的；vt.使突然发生；n.沉淀物 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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faltering
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| 犹豫的，支吾的，蹒跚的 | |
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awe
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| n.敬畏，惊惧；vt.使敬畏，使惊惧 | |
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practitioner
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| n.实践者，从事者；(医生或律师等)开业者 | |
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16
judiciously
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| adv.明断地，明智而审慎地 | |
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17
quackery
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| n.庸医的医术，骗子的行为 | |
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surgical
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| adj.外科的，外科医生的，手术上的 | |
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repartee
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| n.机敏的应答 | |
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villain
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| n.反派演员，反面人物；恶棍；问题的起因 | |
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worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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subscription
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| n.预订，预订费，亲笔签名，调配法，下标（处方） | |
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trots
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| 小跑，急走( trot的名词复数 )； 匆匆忙忙地走 | |
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covert
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| adj.隐藏的；暗地里的 | |
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brook
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| n.小河，溪；v.忍受，容让 | |
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chestnut
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| n.栗树，栗子 | |
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brute
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| n.野兽，兽性 | |
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flask
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| n.瓶，火药筒，砂箱 | |
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trotting
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| 小跑，急走( trot的现在分词 )； 匆匆忙忙地走 | |
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paraphernalia
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| n.装备；随身用品 | |
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invalid
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| n.病人，伤残人；adj.有病的，伤残的；无效的 | |
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draughts
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| n. <英>国际跳棋 | |
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eldest
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| adj.最年长的，最年老的 | |
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grouse
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| n.松鸡；v.牢骚，诉苦 | |
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35
anecdote
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| n.轶事，趣闻，短故事 | |
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36
prescriptions
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| 药( prescription的名词复数 )； 处方； 开处方； 计划 | |
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