Doctor Thorne, Anthony Trollope [an ebook reader .TXT] 📗

“Use the power that a strong man has over a weak one. Use the power that my will will give you. Do for him as you would for a son of your own if you saw him going in bad courses. Do as a friend should do for a friend that is dead and gone. I would do so for you, doctor, if our places were changed.”

“What I can do, that I will do,” said Thorne, solemnly, taking as he spoke the contractor’s hand in his own with a tight grasp.

“I know you will; I know you will. Oh! doctor, may you never feel as I do now! May you on your deathbed have no dread as I have, as to the fate of those you will leave behind you!”

Doctor Thorne felt that he could not say much in answer to this. The future fate of Louis Scatcherd was, he could not but own to himself, greatly to be dreaded. What good, what happiness, could be presaged for such a one as he was? What comfort could he offer to the father? And then he was called on to compare, as it were, the prospects of this unfortunate with those of his own darling; to contrast all that was murky, foul, and disheartening, with all that was perfect⁠—for to him she was all but perfect; to liken Louis Scatcherd to the angel who brightened his own hearthstone. How could he answer to such an appeal?

He said nothing; but merely tightened his grasp of the other’s hand, to signify that he would do, as best he could, all that was asked of him. Sir Roger looked up sadly into the doctor’s face, as though expecting some word of consolation. There was no comfort, no consolation to come to him!

“For three or four years he must greatly depend upon you,” continued Sir Roger.

“I will do what I can,” said the doctor. “What I can do I will do. But he is not a child, Scatcherd: at his age he must stand or fall mainly by his own conduct. The best thing for him will be to marry.”

“Exactly; that’s just it, Thorne: I was coming to that. If he would marry, I think he would do well yet, for all that has come and gone. If he married, of course you would let him have the command of his own income.”

“I will be governed entirely by your wishes: under any circumstances his income will, as I understand, be quite sufficient for him, married or single.”

“Ah!⁠—but, Thorne, I should like to think he should shine with the best of them. For what have I made the money if not for that? Now if he marries⁠—decently, that is⁠—some woman you know that can assist him in the world, let him have what he wants. It is not to save the money that I put it into your hands.”

“No, Scatcherd; not to save the money, but to save him. I think that while you are yet with him you should advise him to marry.”

“He does not care a straw for what I advise, not one straw. Why should he? How can I tell him to be sober when I have been a beast all my life myself? How can I advise him? That’s where it is! It is that that now kills me. Advise! Why, when I speak to him he treats me like a child.”

“He fears that you are too weak, you know: he thinks that you should not be allowed to talk.”

“Nonsense! he knows better; you know better. Too weak! what signifies? Would I not give all that I have of strength at one blow if I could open his eyes to see as I see but for one minute?” And the sick man raised himself up in his bed as though he were actually going to expend all that remained to him of vigour in the energy of a moment.

“Gently, Scatcherd; gently. He will listen to you yet; but do not be so unruly.”

“Thorne, you see that bottle there? Give me half a glass of brandy.”

The doctor turned round in his chair; but he hesitated in doing as he was desired.

“Do as I ask you, doctor. It can do no harm now; you know that well enough. Why torture me now?”

“No, I will not torture you; but you will have water with it?”

“Water! No; the brandy by itself. I tell you I cannot speak without it. What’s the use of canting now? You know it can make no difference.”

Sir Roger was right. It could make no difference; and Dr. Thorne gave him the half glass of brandy.

“Ah, well; you’ve a stingy hand, doctor; confounded stingy. You don’t measure your medicines out in such light doses.”

“You will be wanting more before morning, you know.”

“Before morning! indeed I shall; a pint or so before that. I remember the time, doctor, when I have drunk to my own cheek above two quarts between dinner and breakfast! aye, and worked all the day after it!”

“You have been a wonderful man, Scatcherd, very wonderful.”

“Aye, wonderful! well, never mind. It’s over now. But what was I saying?⁠—about Louis, doctor; you’ll not desert him?”

“Certainly not.”

“He’s not strong; I know that. How should he be strong, living as he has done? Not that it seemed to hurt me when I was his age.”

“You had the advantage of hard work.”

“That’s it. Sometimes I wish that Louis had not a shilling in the world; that he had to trudge about with an apron round his waist as I did. But it’s too late now to think of that. If he would only marry, doctor.”

Dr. Thorne again expressed an opinion that no step would be so likely to reform the habits of the young heir as marriage; and repeated his advice to the father to implore his son to take a wife.

“I’ll tell you what, Thorne,” said he. And then, after a pause, he went on. “I have not half told you as yet