The History of Tom Jones, a Foundling, Henry Fielding [best ereader under 100 TXT] 📗

the nerves of the diaphragm, and thereby occasion a craving which will not be easily distinguishable from a natural appetite; but the aliment will not be concreted, nor assimilated into chyle, and so will corrode the vascular orifices, and thus will aggravate the febrific symptoms. Indeed, I think the gentleman in a very dangerous way, and, if he is not blooded, I am afraid will die.”

“Every man must die some time or other,” answered the good woman; “it is no business of mine. I hope, doctor, you would not have me hold him while you bleed him. But, hark’ee, a word in your ear; I would advise you, before you proceed too far, to take care who is to be your paymaster.”

“Paymaster!” said the doctor, staring; “why, I’ve a gentleman under my hands, have I not?”

“I imagined so as well as you,” said the landlady; “but, as my first husband used to say, everything is not what it looks to be. He is an arrant scrub, I assure you. However, take no notice that I mentioned anything to you of the matter; but I think people in business oft always to let one another know such things.”

“And have I suffered such a fellow as this,” cries the doctor, in a passion, “to instruct me? Shall I hear my practice insulted by one who will not pay me? I am glad I have made this discovery in time. I will see now whether he will be blooded or no.” He then immediately went upstairs, and flinging open the door of the chamber with much violence, awaked poor Jones from a very sound nap, into which he was fallen, and, what was still worse, from a delicious dream concerning Sophia.

“Will you be blooded or no?” cries the doctor, in a rage.⁠—“I have told you my resolution already,” answered Jones, “and I wish with all my heart you had taken my answer; for you have awaked me out of the sweetest sleep which I ever had in my life.”

“Ay, ay,” cries the doctor; “many a man hath dozed away his life. Sleep is not always good, no more than food; but remember, I demand of you for the last time, will you be blooded?”⁠—“I answer you for the last time,” said Jones, “I will not.”⁠—“Then I wash my hands of you,” cries the doctor; “and I desire you to pay me for the trouble I have had already. Two journeys at 5s. each, two dressings at 5s. more, and half a crown for phlebotomy.”⁠—“I hope,” said Jones, “you don’t intend to leave me in this condition.”⁠—“Indeed but I shall,” said the other.⁠—“Then,” said Jones, “you have used me rascally, and I will not pay you a farthing.”⁠—“Very well,” cries the doctor; “the first loss is the best. What a pox did my landlady mean by sending for me to such vagabonds!” At which words he flung out of the room, and his patient turning himself about soon recovered his sleep; but his dream was unfortunately gone.

IV

In which is introduced one of the pleasantest barbers that was ever recorded in history, the barber of Bagdad, or he in Don Quixote, not excepted.

The clock had now struck five when Jones awaked from a nap of seven hours, so much refreshed, and in such perfect health and spirits, that he resolved to get up and dress himself; for which purpose he unlocked his portmanteau, and took out clean linen, and a suit of clothes; but first he slipped on a frock, and went down into the kitchen to bespeak something that might pacify certain tumults he found rising within his stomach.

Meeting the landlady, he accosted her with great civility, and asked, “What he could have for dinner?”⁠—“For dinner!” says she; “it is an odd time a day to think about dinner. There is nothing dressed in the house, and the fire is almost out.”⁠—“Well, but,” says he, “I must have something to eat, and it is almost indifferent to me what; for, to tell you the truth, I was never more hungry in my life.”⁠—“Then,” says she, “I believe there is a piece of cold buttock and carrot, which will fit you.”⁠—“Nothing better,” answered Jones; “but I should be obliged to you, if you would let it be fried.” To which the landlady consented, and said, smiling, “she was glad to see him so well recovered”; for the sweetness of our hero’s temper was almost irresistible; besides, she was really no ill-humoured woman at the bottom; but she loved money so much, that she hated everything which had the semblance of poverty.

Jones now returned in order to dress himself, while his dinner was preparing, and was, according to his orders, attended by the barber.

This barber, who went by the name of Little Benjamin, was a fellow of great oddity and humour, which had frequently let him into small inconveniencies, such as slaps in the face, kicks in the breech, broken bones, etc. For everyone doth not understand a jest; and those who do are often displeased with being themselves the subjects of it. This vice was, however, incurable in him; and though he had often smarted for it, yet if ever he conceived a joke, he was certain to be delivered of it, without the least respect of persons, time, or place.

He had a great many other particularities in his character, which I shall not mention, as the reader will himself very easily perceive them, on his farther acquaintance with this extraordinary person.

Jones being impatient to be dressed, for a reason which may be easily imagined, thought the shaver was very tedious in preparing his suds, and begged him to make haste; to which the other answered with much gravity, for he never discomposed his muscles on any account, “Festina lente, is a proverb which I learned long before I ever touched a razor.”⁠—“I find, friend, you are a scholar,” replied Jones. “A poor one,” said the barber, “non omnia possumus