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

said he; “sir:” and he could hardly get his lips open to give vent to the tumult of his heart. Perhaps he was not wrong; for it may be that his lips were more eloquent than would have been his words.

“What’s the matter?” said Dr. Thorne, opening his eyes wide, and addressing Lady Scatcherd over the head and across the hairs of the irritated man below him. “What on earth is the matter? Is anything wrong with Sir Roger?”

“Oh, laws, doctor!” said her ladyship. “Oh, laws; I’m sure it ain’t my fault. Here’s Dr. Fillgrave in a taking, and I’m quite ready to pay him⁠—quite. If a man gets paid, what more can he want?” And she again held out the five-pound note over Dr. Fillgrave’s head.

What more, indeed, Lady Scatcherd, can any of us want, if only we could keep our tempers and feelings a little in abeyance? Dr. Fillgrave, however, could not so keep his; and, therefore, he did want something more, though at the present moment he could have hardly said what.

Lady Scatcherd’s courage was somewhat resuscitated by the presence of her ancient trusty ally; and, moreover, she began to conceive that the little man before her was unreasonable beyond all conscience in his anger, seeing that that for which he was ready to work had been offered to him without any work at all.

“Madam,” said he, again turning round at Lady Scatcherd, “I was never before treated in such a way in any house in Barchester⁠—never⁠—never.”

“Good heavens, Dr. Fillgrave!” said he of Greshamsbury, “what is the matter?”

“I’ll let you know what is the matter, sir,” said he, turning round again as quickly as before. “I’ll let you know what is the matter. I’ll publish this, sir, to the medical world;” and as he shrieked out the words of the threat, he stood on tiptoes and brandished his eyeglasses up almost into his enemy’s face.

“Don’t be angry with Dr. Thorne,” said Lady Scatcherd. “Any ways, you needn’t be angry with him. If you must be angry with anybody⁠—”

“I shall be angry with him, madam,” ejaculated Dr. Fillgrave, making another sudden demi-pirouette. “I am angry with him⁠—or, rather, I despise him;” and completing the circle, Dr. Fillgrave again brought himself round in full front of his foe.

Dr. Thorne raised his eyebrows and looked inquiringly at Lady Scatcherd; but there was a quiet sarcastic motion round his mouth which by no means had the effect of throwing oil on the troubled waters.

“I’ll publish the whole of this transaction to the medical world, Dr. Thorne⁠—the whole of it; and if that has not the effect of rescuing the people of Greshamsbury out of your hands, then⁠—then⁠—then, I don’t know what will. Is my carriage⁠—that is, post-chaise there?” and Dr. Fillgrave, speaking very loudly, turned majestically to one of the servants.

“What have I done to you, Dr. Fillgrave,” said Dr. Thorne, now absolutely laughing, “that you should determine to take my bread out of my mouth? I am not interfering with your patient. I have come here simply with reference to money matters appertaining to Sir Roger.”

“Money matters! Very well⁠—very well; money matters. That is your idea of medical practice! Very well⁠—very well. Is my post-chaise at the door? I’ll publish it all to the medical world⁠—every word⁠—every word of it, every word of it.”

“Publish what, you unreasonable man?”

“Man! sir; whom do you call a man? I’ll let you know whether I’m a man⁠—post-chaise there!”

“Don’t ’ee call him names now, doctor; don’t ’ee, pray don’t ’ee,” said Lady Scatcherd.

By this time they had all got somewhere nearer the hall-door; but the Scatcherd retainers were too fond of the row to absent themselves willingly at Dr. Fillgrave’s bidding, and it did not appear that anyone went in search of the post-chaise.

“Man! sir; I’ll let you know what it is to speak to me in that style. I think, sir, you hardly know who I am.”

“All that I know of you at present is, that you are my friend Sir Roger’s physician, and I cannot conceive what has occurred to make you so angry.” And as he spoke, Dr. Thorne looked carefully at him to see whether that pump-discipline had in truth been applied. There were no signs whatever that cold water had been thrown upon Dr. Fillgrave.

“My post-chaise⁠—is my post-chaise there? The medical world shall know all; you may be sure, sir, the medical world shall know it all;” and thus, ordering his post-chaise, and threatening Dr. Thorne with the medical world, Dr. Fillgrave made his way to the door.

But the moment he put on his hat he returned. “No, madam,” said he. “No; it is quite out of the question: such an affair is not to be arranged by such means. I’ll publish it all to the medical world⁠—post-chaise there!” and then, using all his force, he flung as far as he could into the hall a light bit of paper. It fell at Dr. Thorne’s feet, who, raising it, found that it was a five-pound note.

“I put it into his hat just while he was in his tantrum,” said Lady Scatcherd. “And I thought that perhaps he would not find it till he got to Barchester. Well I wish he’d been paid, certainly, although Sir Roger wouldn’t see him;” and in this manner Dr. Thorne got some glimpse of understanding into the cause of the great offence.

“I wonder whether Sir Roger will see me,” said he, laughing.

XIII The Two Uncles

“Ha! ha! ha! Ha! ha! ha!” laughed Sir Roger, lustily, as Dr. Thorne entered the room. “Well, if that ain’t rich, I don’t know what is. Ha! ha! ha! But why did they not put him under the pump, doctor?”

The doctor, however, had too much tact, and too many things of importance to say, to allow of his giving up much time to the discussion of Dr. Fillgrave’s wrath. He had come determined to open the baronet’s eyes as to what would be the real effect of his will, and he had also to negotiate a loan for Mr. Gresham, if that might be possible. Dr. Thorne therefore began