XLIOF HUMAN KINDNESS"Whether my name is Donovan or whether it's Smith, I do not wish to be be'olding to them, Doctor; I do not want their blasted milk. That is the long and short of it."Applying my eye with feverish haste to the squint-hole, I perceived that she who uttered these proud sentiments was young and not ill-favoured, having red hair and freckles and a "Hands off" expression. "That," she repeated, "is the long and the short of it—if you can call it milk at all! They buy it from ole Tompkins.""Well," said the doctor, feeling, evidently, that he was called upon to saysomething, "well, Mrs. Donovan——""One minit, Doctor," interpolated his visitor, "it is Wilson now, if you please, Doctor. Donovan was our name when we lived in Beddoes Street."The doctor uttered an apology and began again. "Well, Mrs. Wilson, I——"But the visitor again checked him. "Of course, Doctor," said the lady, "you will understand thatshedon't know me by the name of Wilson. I am still Mrs. Bannister to 'er, same as I was in the ole days, when she got me to sign the pledge. Pledge, indeed! Fudge,Icall it. Did ever you 'ear of a thing so silly, Doctor? Me not turned eighteen at the time, and to make me sign a paper about never touching nothing for the rest of me life. And she calls 'erself a lady. With 'er airs an' graces, an' 'er two pennorth o' milk an' what not! I've broke the blessed thing a 'undred times, that is one comfort."The joke of it is, Doctor, that they almost force you to take their blessed milk. Is it right, I arst you, Doctor, that a person is forced to be beholding to another person for such a trivial thing as milk because they 'appen to be sister to the vicar? You understand my meaning, don't you?""Perfectly," assented Doctor Brink."You know yesself 'ow ill I been, Doctor. Well, then, she come round to my place every day, she did, with 'er little notebook and 'er gold-rimmed eye glasses, and what not, and she says to me, she says:—"'I didn't ought to be visiting you at all, not be rights,' she says; 'but you was a good girl once,' she says, 'one of my very favourite girls once,' she says, 'though you'avemade mock of your solemn pledge,' she says, 'and I thought I must come round,' she says, 'for old times' sake, and ask you what you mean be wastin' money on doctors,' she says."'It's me own money,' I says."'Never mind 'oose money it is," says she, 'you ain't got enough of it to go an' waste on doctors when the Church 'as got a beautiful sick club and a free dispensary all kindly arranged for you. Sich extravagance!' says she. 'And now, I suppose, you'll expect us to give you some milk tickets.'"Did ever you 'ear the like of it, Doctor?"'I ain't never arst you for no milk tickets,' I says; 'I ain't never arst you for nothing. Me 'usband is in work, and I kin buy me own milk, and I kin buy me own doctorin'.'"'It's a disgrace,' she says. 'If the vicar was to 'ear of it 'e would be furious,' she says."'Then I shouldn't tell 'im, miss,' says I."'Why?' she says."'Because,' I says, 'it isn't a sister's place to put 'er brother into tempers.'"She raised 'er forrid at me. 'You seem to forgit,' says she, 'as you are talkin' to a lady.'"'Quite right,' I answers, 'so I did.'"She looks at me solemn for a little while, and then she says, in a sort o' 'lift-'im-gently' voice, she says, 'I suppose we shall 'ave to let you 'ave some milk tickets. I will talk to Miss Perkins,' she says."'But, if you please, miss,' I tells 'er, 'I don'twantany milk tickets. I got as much milk to drink as ever I want.'"'Nonsense!' she says. 'I will talk to Miss Perkins. A pore woman like you are didn't oughter be 'ere at all. You oughter be in the infirmary gettin' proper attention, instead o' wasting money on doctors.'"'But my man is in work,' I tells 'er once more. I rubbed in that point 'cause I thought per'aps she was ignorant about it—'im goin' to work under the name of Rogers. But it didn't satisfy 'er, bless you."'Your 'usband 'avin' work 'as got nothink to do wiv it,' she says. 'All the more reason,' she says, 'for you to save the money while it is comin' in,' she says. 'Your Doctor Brinks, indeed! What's the good of us Church people gettin' up all these kind things for you if you go an' get ill in this 'igh-stepping fashion,' says she, 'with your private medicine and your private doctors? Wasting your husband's money.'"'E don't complain,' I says. ''E likes me to be independent.'"'Nonsense!' she says. 'The idea! People in your position can't afford to be independent. What you working people are coming to is really remarkable,' she says. 'Ere's me an' the vicar, an' Miss Perkins, and the 'ole Church workin' 'ard for you all day long, and all the reward we get is a lot of impertinent talk about independence! 'Owever,' she says, 'I'll see as you get the milk.'"'But,' I tells 'er fur the twentieth time, 'I don't want no milk.'"'Fiddlesticks!' says she; 'I'll talk to Miss Perkins. You kin 'ave a pint a day for a fortnight.'"'On'y,' I says, 'I don'twantno milk.'"'My good woman,' says she, 'you don't know what you want. Nor it ain't your place to know. Your place is to take what's given you an' be respectful. Next time you see your Doctor Brink, you kin tell 'im I told you so.'"* * * * *"So that," pursued the visitor, "is what I mean, Doctor, when I say be damned to 'er blarsted milk. Do you follow my meaning?""Perfectly," said the doctor again, as he grasped the rebel's hand. "Perfectly, Mrs. Donovan.""Mrs. Wilson, if you please, Doctor," corrected the lady.The doctor offered many apologies. "I believe," he said reflectively, "that you are Mrs. Bannister toher?""That's right," assented his patient."Ah!" murmured Doctor Brink, "I will write to her and acknowledge her kind message. Be gad I will. Yes. Ah! I—I—begad, yes. Ha! H'm! ... And now, Mrs. Ban——Mrs. Wilson, what is this about the certificate for the insurance company?""Oh, yes," said Mrs. Wilson. "Will you oblige me, Doctor, be makin' it out in the name of Banks?"XLIITHE LAST"It's true then?" I inquired."Oh, yes," responded James—"quite true. Fatty's got a person coming to see him this afternoon about buying the practice.""I suppose it's no use asking, 'Why all this?'""Well," admitted James, "you know it's against our principles in this household to give reasons. But seeing that it's you—the truth is that Fatty isn't going to stick it any longer, because he says he'll be damned if he does stick it any longer. He says he's going to start a pottery and kill them quicker.""Youdon't seem so tremendously jubilant as I was led to expect.""No-o," replied James. "The idea was rather exciting at first. But I've been walking about to-day telling everybody the news; and, really, people have been so awfully kind. Mrs. Bernstein—where they make the old furniture, you know—actually cried and gave me a salted cucumber; and her brother, who is our fish man, says he's sending round a hat—why, I don't know—besides a small plaice which came this morning. And dear old Mr. Grimsdick, the grocer, got very excited indeed, and he says it isn't to be heard of, and he's coming round to stop it. And Mrs. Bolt, where we buy our coal, she said, 'Lord-love-a-duck,' she said, 'what next? You tell your father to stop where he is. You tell him he suits us very well. We don't want none of your educated gentlemen in Bovingdon Street.'"Besides," continued James, "there's Baffin. What are we to do about Baffin? We can't sell Baffin with the practice. And what's to become of him?Weall know that he's a genius, but nobody else has found it out yet, and so he hasn't got much money. Think of all his pictures stuck to the washhouse wall! Fatty says they'll be worth thousands one day; but they won't come off the walls, and if we leave them there somebody else will steal the money. And there are all his clothes. Baffin has been collecting clothes for years, and these are all in the washhouse—somewhere. I really don't——"James's reflections were interrupted by the sudden opening of the door, which admitted a strange young gentleman into our presence. He was followed by Doctor Brink himself."This," said the latter gentleman, "is Mr. Reginald Cavendish, who has come to inquire about the practice. He is charmed with the situation of the house, my dear.""What I mean to say," explained Reginald, having made his bows, "is that you've got so many windows, and such decent rooms. One doesn't expect that sort of thing in the East End. My pater will be quite pleased. It's my pater who's going to buy this practice for me, you know. I'm studying law, you know—goin' in for this medico-legal game—and my pater thinks this'd be a good thing to amuse myself with until I'm through. It's all cash, you say, Doctor.... Ah! Well, it saves a lot of fag, book-keepin', an' that—what? Not exactly what you might term 'classy,' but—you needn't tell people, eh? Who's to know—what?"Of course," continued Mr. Cavendish, as if in answer to an imaginary objector, "the patients do smell, I suppose. But a chap could have a change here. A sort of professional uniform—what? Ha! Ha! This place all right for gettin' about, Doctor? Easy reach of the West End and all that sort of thing?""We are served by two railways," responded Doctor Brink, "besides a tramline. And there are cabs at the London Hospital.""No motor-buses, then—what?No motor-buses?"Doctor Brink was able to assure his visitor that the boon of the motor-bus would not be absent from that gentleman's future joys.The cloud which had sombred Mr. Cavendish's features immediately gave place to a smile."Good business," he cried. "Whenever a chap gets too awfully fed up with it, then, he can nip on to something or other and have a night at the Pav.—what? Besides," added Mr. Cavendish, "a chap can put up with a lot for twelve hundred a year. That's what it's doing, you say?""That's whatI'mdoing," replied Doctor Brink. "But then," he explained, with a mild expression, "I haven't tried the effect of running the practice from the Pav.""Oh, quite," assented Mr. Cavendish. "What I mean to say is, of course not. But when I take over the practice, I shall run an assistant: one of those middle-aged Scotch chaps, you know, with a turn-down collar. A chap can afford to have one of those beggars if he's doing twelve hundred—especially when he's a bachelor—what? Ha! Ha! ... I shall let my assistant do most of the night-work and the confinements, and all that sort of thing. I'm a consulting-room man, really."The other practitioner merely smiled. "I suppose," continued Mr. Cavendish, "that you don't give these beggars anything very special in the way of drugs. No elaborate gout cures—what? Ha! Ha!""It's a faith-cure practice almost entirely," replied the doctor, winking at your servant."Oh," said Mr. Cavendish, a little coldly. "Of course, I should run the show on dignified lines. They'll have everything in reason. I shall do my own dispensing. You can be sure that they get the right stuff then—what?"Again the doctor merely smiled."And now," said Mr. Cavendish, rising from his chair, "I shall have to clear out. Got to dine with a couple of chaps at some beastly club. I think this will suit me very well, Doctor; just the thing I've been looking for—a quiet, steady practice to keep a chap goin' while he's reading for these rotten law exams. You'll hear from my pater, I expect. Of course, your price is pretty stiff, but I'll tell my father what I think about the show, and no doubt he'll consider it. So long, Doctor.""So long," said Doctor Brink, and James, and I."And now," said Doctor Brink, as he reached for a long glass, "supposingweconsider it?""Ihaveconsidered it," said James. "We are going to stop.""Why?" exclaimed the doctor."Because," replied James, "it is too awful to think of a person like that being let loose on everybody.""A person!" echoed the doctor. "My dear girl, that was an awfully educated young man. He's an M.B.! and he's going to run the practice on dignified lines. What more can the beggars ask for their sixpences than real drugs and dignity?""Fatty," said his daughter, in a voice of cold resolve, "if you take me away from here, do you know what I shall do? I shall live with Aunt Isobel and go to school, and grow up to be a little lady.""Ha!" cried the doctor, starting up.... "I'd forgotten you. Bring out the Burgundy.... We'll consider it."THE END* * * * * * * *BY THE SAME AUTHORKITCHENER CHAPSCrown 8vo. 2s. net"These little sketches are humorous, loving, and manifestly genuine."—Spectator."Mr. Neil Lyons writes as the friend and observer of the New Army; ... is a master of cockney humour.... There are other soldiers in his book, but those who talk cockney are the most delightful.... As to nearly everything that Mr. Lyons' cockneys say, we have an instinctive feeling that it is exactly right."—Times."There is no writer of our day who is so free from prejudice as Mr. Neil Lyons, or puts down on paper so fearlessly the actual dialogue of our streets.... Here, you will say, is the very man to take down the talk of the humbler members of Lord Kitchener's Armies. And you will be right. You will laugh heartily over 'Kitchener Chaps.'"—Sunday Times."Mr. Neil Lyons' sketches of the recruits in the new army are splendid, humorous and human pen-pictures, almost the first genuine literature that the war has produced."One of the sketches, 'Old Nitch,' is a superb little masterpiece, but they are all very, very good."—Daily Express.ARTHUR'STHE ROMANCE OF A COFFEE STALLCrown 8vo. 7s. net"Very pretty comedy ... not only a very entertaining and amusing work, but a very kindly and tolerant work also. At the back of it is understanding and love of life, and that most admirable frame of mind for an artist, the live-and-let-live temperament."—Times."'Arthur's' can cordially be recommended.... Mr. Lyons seems to have the animating gift as well as the seeing eye, and a kindly humour in selection and treatment brings out the light and warmth of the stall rather than its flare and smell."—Manchester Guardian.CLARASOME SCATTERED CHAPTERS IN THE LIFE OF A HUSSYCrown 8vo. 7s. net"No one can fail to recognise his rare qualities of sincerity and sympathy, and his gift for impressionist character-drawing."—Punch."It is a true picture—and the courage of the under-people is daintily, sincerely, and dexterously revealed. One is glad to have known Clara."—Daily Mail."All are admirable, and one could only wish that every worker in philanthropic or municipal machinery would learn them by heart."—Nation.SIXPENNY PIECESCrown 8vo. 7s. and 2s. net'Sixpenny Pieces' is as good as 'Arthur's.' ... For a book full of laughter and tears and bits innumerable that one feels impelled to read aloud, 'Sixpenny Pieces' would be very hard indeed to beat."—Evening Standard."Those who remember 'Arthur's,' by the same writer, will not need to be told what excellent use he makes of his opportunities. A book of which every page is a delight, written with humour and sympathy, and a gentle satire, none the less biting for its restraint. In short, Mr. Lyons' 'Sixpenny Pieces' have the ring of true metal, and I for one shall eagerly anticipate another issue from the same excellent mint."—Punch.COTTAGE PIEA COUNTRY SPREADCrown 8vo. 7s. net"Marked with the humour and grip with which Mr. Lyons visualizes an episode, and by his remarkable power of transcribing the talk of the less educated classes of the community."—Times."We doubt if it would be easy to overpraise Mr. Neil Lyons, for his humour is of the truest and most discreet order. A jollier, cheerfuller, more sympathetic book than 'Cottage Pie,' will be sought after in vain among the successes of the season."—Daily Telegraph.SIMPLE SIMONHIS ADVENTURES IN THE THISTLE PATCHWith 8 Illustrations by G. E. PETOCrown 8vo. 7s. net"I found myself the grateful admirer of Simon and his creator. Mr. Lyons' sympathetic drawing of certain odd London characters is a thing that I have often admired; he has no portraits in his gallery better than these, of the quaint objects of Simon's Silverside hospitality ... specially did I like Margaret ... she and some others are also depicted in some very attractive drawings which illustrates (for once the right word) a book which will certainly delight those who can appreciate it."—Punch."Those who come fresh to his work will find in it a peculiar humour, irresistible, cynical... They will also find a power of satire and a true understanding of what are known as the 'lower classes.'"—Spectator.MOBY LANE & THEREABOUTSCrown 8vo. 7s. net"Mr. Lyons proves himself an adept in the matter and manner of Sussex character.... There are many unforgettable creatures in this unexpected book."—Morning Post."There is, all through the book, a freshness of outlook which is infectious, an incisive, humorous style, above all a keen plunging into the middle of things."—Spectator.LANE'S 3/6 NOVELSSOME NEW VOLUMESSTORIES NEAR AND FARTHE OLD BRIDGEBy WILLIAM J. LOCKETHE HURCOTTSBy MURIEL HINETHE LAWS OF CHANCETHE GREAT UNRESTBy F. E. MILLS YOUNGWINSOME WINNIEBy STEPHEN LEACOCKA PRINCE OF DREAMERSMISTRESS OF MENBy FLORA ANNIE STEELSTEALTHY TERRORBy JOHN FERGUSONTHE LOST CABIN MINEBy FREDERICK NIVENLANE'S 2/- NOVELSBound in Stiff Boards with Coloured Picture Wrapper.2s. net each volumeNEW VOLUMESTHE ROUGH ROADTHE HOUSE OF BALTHAZARMOORDIUS & CO.By WILLIAM J. LOCKE.HALF IN EARNESTTHE FLIGHTTORQUIL'S SUCCESSTHE HIDDEN VALLEYBy MURIEL HINETHE MURDER ON THE LINKSPOIROT INVESTIGATESBy AGATHA CHRISTIEROOKERY NOOK By BEN TRAVERSSend for list of previous volumes, which include novels by William J. Locke, Muriel Hine, F. E. Mills Young, Agatha Christie, Ben Travers, Stephen Leacock, G. K. Chesterton, Annie Haynes, and others.JOHN LANE THE BODLEY HEAD LTD., VIGO ST., W.1.*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOKSIXPENNY PIECES***
XLI
OF HUMAN KINDNESS
"Whether my name is Donovan or whether it's Smith, I do not wish to be be'olding to them, Doctor; I do not want their blasted milk. That is the long and short of it."
Applying my eye with feverish haste to the squint-hole, I perceived that she who uttered these proud sentiments was young and not ill-favoured, having red hair and freckles and a "Hands off" expression. "That," she repeated, "is the long and the short of it—if you can call it milk at all! They buy it from ole Tompkins."
"Well," said the doctor, feeling, evidently, that he was called upon to saysomething, "well, Mrs. Donovan——"
"One minit, Doctor," interpolated his visitor, "it is Wilson now, if you please, Doctor. Donovan was our name when we lived in Beddoes Street."
The doctor uttered an apology and began again. "Well, Mrs. Wilson, I——"
But the visitor again checked him. "Of course, Doctor," said the lady, "you will understand thatshedon't know me by the name of Wilson. I am still Mrs. Bannister to 'er, same as I was in the ole days, when she got me to sign the pledge. Pledge, indeed! Fudge,Icall it. Did ever you 'ear of a thing so silly, Doctor? Me not turned eighteen at the time, and to make me sign a paper about never touching nothing for the rest of me life. And she calls 'erself a lady. With 'er airs an' graces, an' 'er two pennorth o' milk an' what not! I've broke the blessed thing a 'undred times, that is one comfort.
"The joke of it is, Doctor, that they almost force you to take their blessed milk. Is it right, I arst you, Doctor, that a person is forced to be beholding to another person for such a trivial thing as milk because they 'appen to be sister to the vicar? You understand my meaning, don't you?"
"Perfectly," assented Doctor Brink.
"You know yesself 'ow ill I been, Doctor. Well, then, she come round to my place every day, she did, with 'er little notebook and 'er gold-rimmed eye glasses, and what not, and she says to me, she says:—
"'I didn't ought to be visiting you at all, not be rights,' she says; 'but you was a good girl once,' she says, 'one of my very favourite girls once,' she says, 'though you'avemade mock of your solemn pledge,' she says, 'and I thought I must come round,' she says, 'for old times' sake, and ask you what you mean be wastin' money on doctors,' she says.
"'It's me own money,' I says.
"'Never mind 'oose money it is," says she, 'you ain't got enough of it to go an' waste on doctors when the Church 'as got a beautiful sick club and a free dispensary all kindly arranged for you. Sich extravagance!' says she. 'And now, I suppose, you'll expect us to give you some milk tickets.'
"Did ever you 'ear the like of it, Doctor?
"'I ain't never arst you for no milk tickets,' I says; 'I ain't never arst you for nothing. Me 'usband is in work, and I kin buy me own milk, and I kin buy me own doctorin'.'
"'It's a disgrace,' she says. 'If the vicar was to 'ear of it 'e would be furious,' she says.
"'Then I shouldn't tell 'im, miss,' says I.
"'Why?' she says.
"'Because,' I says, 'it isn't a sister's place to put 'er brother into tempers.'
"She raised 'er forrid at me. 'You seem to forgit,' says she, 'as you are talkin' to a lady.'
"'Quite right,' I answers, 'so I did.'
"She looks at me solemn for a little while, and then she says, in a sort o' 'lift-'im-gently' voice, she says, 'I suppose we shall 'ave to let you 'ave some milk tickets. I will talk to Miss Perkins,' she says.
"'But, if you please, miss,' I tells 'er, 'I don'twantany milk tickets. I got as much milk to drink as ever I want.'
"'Nonsense!' she says. 'I will talk to Miss Perkins. A pore woman like you are didn't oughter be 'ere at all. You oughter be in the infirmary gettin' proper attention, instead o' wasting money on doctors.'
"'But my man is in work,' I tells 'er once more. I rubbed in that point 'cause I thought per'aps she was ignorant about it—'im goin' to work under the name of Rogers. But it didn't satisfy 'er, bless you.
"'Your 'usband 'avin' work 'as got nothink to do wiv it,' she says. 'All the more reason,' she says, 'for you to save the money while it is comin' in,' she says. 'Your Doctor Brinks, indeed! What's the good of us Church people gettin' up all these kind things for you if you go an' get ill in this 'igh-stepping fashion,' says she, 'with your private medicine and your private doctors? Wasting your husband's money.'
"'E don't complain,' I says. ''E likes me to be independent.'
"'Nonsense!' she says. 'The idea! People in your position can't afford to be independent. What you working people are coming to is really remarkable,' she says. 'Ere's me an' the vicar, an' Miss Perkins, and the 'ole Church workin' 'ard for you all day long, and all the reward we get is a lot of impertinent talk about independence! 'Owever,' she says, 'I'll see as you get the milk.'
"'But,' I tells 'er fur the twentieth time, 'I don't want no milk.'
"'Fiddlesticks!' says she; 'I'll talk to Miss Perkins. You kin 'ave a pint a day for a fortnight.'
"'On'y,' I says, 'I don'twantno milk.'
"'My good woman,' says she, 'you don't know what you want. Nor it ain't your place to know. Your place is to take what's given you an' be respectful. Next time you see your Doctor Brink, you kin tell 'im I told you so.'"
* * * * *
"So that," pursued the visitor, "is what I mean, Doctor, when I say be damned to 'er blarsted milk. Do you follow my meaning?"
"Perfectly," said the doctor again, as he grasped the rebel's hand. "Perfectly, Mrs. Donovan."
"Mrs. Wilson, if you please, Doctor," corrected the lady.
The doctor offered many apologies. "I believe," he said reflectively, "that you are Mrs. Bannister toher?"
"That's right," assented his patient.
"Ah!" murmured Doctor Brink, "I will write to her and acknowledge her kind message. Be gad I will. Yes. Ah! I—I—begad, yes. Ha! H'm! ... And now, Mrs. Ban——Mrs. Wilson, what is this about the certificate for the insurance company?"
"Oh, yes," said Mrs. Wilson. "Will you oblige me, Doctor, be makin' it out in the name of Banks?"
XLII
THE LAST
"It's true then?" I inquired.
"Oh, yes," responded James—"quite true. Fatty's got a person coming to see him this afternoon about buying the practice."
"I suppose it's no use asking, 'Why all this?'"
"Well," admitted James, "you know it's against our principles in this household to give reasons. But seeing that it's you—the truth is that Fatty isn't going to stick it any longer, because he says he'll be damned if he does stick it any longer. He says he's going to start a pottery and kill them quicker."
"Youdon't seem so tremendously jubilant as I was led to expect."
"No-o," replied James. "The idea was rather exciting at first. But I've been walking about to-day telling everybody the news; and, really, people have been so awfully kind. Mrs. Bernstein—where they make the old furniture, you know—actually cried and gave me a salted cucumber; and her brother, who is our fish man, says he's sending round a hat—why, I don't know—besides a small plaice which came this morning. And dear old Mr. Grimsdick, the grocer, got very excited indeed, and he says it isn't to be heard of, and he's coming round to stop it. And Mrs. Bolt, where we buy our coal, she said, 'Lord-love-a-duck,' she said, 'what next? You tell your father to stop where he is. You tell him he suits us very well. We don't want none of your educated gentlemen in Bovingdon Street.'
"Besides," continued James, "there's Baffin. What are we to do about Baffin? We can't sell Baffin with the practice. And what's to become of him?Weall know that he's a genius, but nobody else has found it out yet, and so he hasn't got much money. Think of all his pictures stuck to the washhouse wall! Fatty says they'll be worth thousands one day; but they won't come off the walls, and if we leave them there somebody else will steal the money. And there are all his clothes. Baffin has been collecting clothes for years, and these are all in the washhouse—somewhere. I really don't——"
James's reflections were interrupted by the sudden opening of the door, which admitted a strange young gentleman into our presence. He was followed by Doctor Brink himself.
"This," said the latter gentleman, "is Mr. Reginald Cavendish, who has come to inquire about the practice. He is charmed with the situation of the house, my dear."
"What I mean to say," explained Reginald, having made his bows, "is that you've got so many windows, and such decent rooms. One doesn't expect that sort of thing in the East End. My pater will be quite pleased. It's my pater who's going to buy this practice for me, you know. I'm studying law, you know—goin' in for this medico-legal game—and my pater thinks this'd be a good thing to amuse myself with until I'm through. It's all cash, you say, Doctor.... Ah! Well, it saves a lot of fag, book-keepin', an' that—what? Not exactly what you might term 'classy,' but—you needn't tell people, eh? Who's to know—what?
"Of course," continued Mr. Cavendish, as if in answer to an imaginary objector, "the patients do smell, I suppose. But a chap could have a change here. A sort of professional uniform—what? Ha! Ha! This place all right for gettin' about, Doctor? Easy reach of the West End and all that sort of thing?"
"We are served by two railways," responded Doctor Brink, "besides a tramline. And there are cabs at the London Hospital."
"No motor-buses, then—what?No motor-buses?"
Doctor Brink was able to assure his visitor that the boon of the motor-bus would not be absent from that gentleman's future joys.
The cloud which had sombred Mr. Cavendish's features immediately gave place to a smile.
"Good business," he cried. "Whenever a chap gets too awfully fed up with it, then, he can nip on to something or other and have a night at the Pav.—what? Besides," added Mr. Cavendish, "a chap can put up with a lot for twelve hundred a year. That's what it's doing, you say?"
"That's whatI'mdoing," replied Doctor Brink. "But then," he explained, with a mild expression, "I haven't tried the effect of running the practice from the Pav."
"Oh, quite," assented Mr. Cavendish. "What I mean to say is, of course not. But when I take over the practice, I shall run an assistant: one of those middle-aged Scotch chaps, you know, with a turn-down collar. A chap can afford to have one of those beggars if he's doing twelve hundred—especially when he's a bachelor—what? Ha! Ha! ... I shall let my assistant do most of the night-work and the confinements, and all that sort of thing. I'm a consulting-room man, really."
The other practitioner merely smiled. "I suppose," continued Mr. Cavendish, "that you don't give these beggars anything very special in the way of drugs. No elaborate gout cures—what? Ha! Ha!"
"It's a faith-cure practice almost entirely," replied the doctor, winking at your servant.
"Oh," said Mr. Cavendish, a little coldly. "Of course, I should run the show on dignified lines. They'll have everything in reason. I shall do my own dispensing. You can be sure that they get the right stuff then—what?"
Again the doctor merely smiled.
"And now," said Mr. Cavendish, rising from his chair, "I shall have to clear out. Got to dine with a couple of chaps at some beastly club. I think this will suit me very well, Doctor; just the thing I've been looking for—a quiet, steady practice to keep a chap goin' while he's reading for these rotten law exams. You'll hear from my pater, I expect. Of course, your price is pretty stiff, but I'll tell my father what I think about the show, and no doubt he'll consider it. So long, Doctor."
"So long," said Doctor Brink, and James, and I.
"And now," said Doctor Brink, as he reached for a long glass, "supposingweconsider it?"
"Ihaveconsidered it," said James. "We are going to stop."
"Why?" exclaimed the doctor.
"Because," replied James, "it is too awful to think of a person like that being let loose on everybody."
"A person!" echoed the doctor. "My dear girl, that was an awfully educated young man. He's an M.B.! and he's going to run the practice on dignified lines. What more can the beggars ask for their sixpences than real drugs and dignity?"
"Fatty," said his daughter, in a voice of cold resolve, "if you take me away from here, do you know what I shall do? I shall live with Aunt Isobel and go to school, and grow up to be a little lady."
"Ha!" cried the doctor, starting up.... "I'd forgotten you. Bring out the Burgundy.... We'll consider it."
THE END
* * * * * * * *
BY THE SAME AUTHOR
KITCHENER CHAPS
Crown 8vo. 2s. net
"These little sketches are humorous, loving, and manifestly genuine."—Spectator.
"Mr. Neil Lyons writes as the friend and observer of the New Army; ... is a master of cockney humour.... There are other soldiers in his book, but those who talk cockney are the most delightful.... As to nearly everything that Mr. Lyons' cockneys say, we have an instinctive feeling that it is exactly right."—Times.
"There is no writer of our day who is so free from prejudice as Mr. Neil Lyons, or puts down on paper so fearlessly the actual dialogue of our streets.... Here, you will say, is the very man to take down the talk of the humbler members of Lord Kitchener's Armies. And you will be right. You will laugh heartily over 'Kitchener Chaps.'"—Sunday Times.
"Mr. Neil Lyons' sketches of the recruits in the new army are splendid, humorous and human pen-pictures, almost the first genuine literature that the war has produced.
"One of the sketches, 'Old Nitch,' is a superb little masterpiece, but they are all very, very good."—Daily Express.
ARTHUR'S
THE ROMANCE OF A COFFEE STALL
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"Very pretty comedy ... not only a very entertaining and amusing work, but a very kindly and tolerant work also. At the back of it is understanding and love of life, and that most admirable frame of mind for an artist, the live-and-let-live temperament."—Times.
"'Arthur's' can cordially be recommended.... Mr. Lyons seems to have the animating gift as well as the seeing eye, and a kindly humour in selection and treatment brings out the light and warmth of the stall rather than its flare and smell."—Manchester Guardian.
CLARA
SOME SCATTERED CHAPTERS IN THE LIFE OF A HUSSY
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"No one can fail to recognise his rare qualities of sincerity and sympathy, and his gift for impressionist character-drawing."—Punch.
"It is a true picture—and the courage of the under-people is daintily, sincerely, and dexterously revealed. One is glad to have known Clara."—Daily Mail.
"All are admirable, and one could only wish that every worker in philanthropic or municipal machinery would learn them by heart."—Nation.
SIXPENNY PIECES
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'Sixpenny Pieces' is as good as 'Arthur's.' ... For a book full of laughter and tears and bits innumerable that one feels impelled to read aloud, 'Sixpenny Pieces' would be very hard indeed to beat."—Evening Standard.
"Those who remember 'Arthur's,' by the same writer, will not need to be told what excellent use he makes of his opportunities. A book of which every page is a delight, written with humour and sympathy, and a gentle satire, none the less biting for its restraint. In short, Mr. Lyons' 'Sixpenny Pieces' have the ring of true metal, and I for one shall eagerly anticipate another issue from the same excellent mint."—Punch.
COTTAGE PIE
A COUNTRY SPREAD
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"Marked with the humour and grip with which Mr. Lyons visualizes an episode, and by his remarkable power of transcribing the talk of the less educated classes of the community."—Times.
"We doubt if it would be easy to overpraise Mr. Neil Lyons, for his humour is of the truest and most discreet order. A jollier, cheerfuller, more sympathetic book than 'Cottage Pie,' will be sought after in vain among the successes of the season."—Daily Telegraph.
SIMPLE SIMON
HIS ADVENTURES IN THE THISTLE PATCH
With 8 Illustrations by G. E. PETO
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"I found myself the grateful admirer of Simon and his creator. Mr. Lyons' sympathetic drawing of certain odd London characters is a thing that I have often admired; he has no portraits in his gallery better than these, of the quaint objects of Simon's Silverside hospitality ... specially did I like Margaret ... she and some others are also depicted in some very attractive drawings which illustrates (for once the right word) a book which will certainly delight those who can appreciate it."—Punch.
"Those who come fresh to his work will find in it a peculiar humour, irresistible, cynical... They will also find a power of satire and a true understanding of what are known as the 'lower classes.'"—Spectator.
MOBY LANE & THEREABOUTS
Crown 8vo. 7s. net
"Mr. Lyons proves himself an adept in the matter and manner of Sussex character.... There are many unforgettable creatures in this unexpected book."—Morning Post.
"There is, all through the book, a freshness of outlook which is infectious, an incisive, humorous style, above all a keen plunging into the middle of things."—Spectator.
LANE'S 3/6 NOVELS
SOME NEW VOLUMES
STORIES NEAR AND FARTHE OLD BRIDGEBy WILLIAM J. LOCKE
THE HURCOTTSBy MURIEL HINE
THE LAWS OF CHANCETHE GREAT UNRESTBy F. E. MILLS YOUNG
WINSOME WINNIEBy STEPHEN LEACOCK
A PRINCE OF DREAMERSMISTRESS OF MENBy FLORA ANNIE STEEL
STEALTHY TERRORBy JOHN FERGUSON
THE LOST CABIN MINEBy FREDERICK NIVEN
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THE ROUGH ROADTHE HOUSE OF BALTHAZARMOORDIUS & CO.By WILLIAM J. LOCKE.
HALF IN EARNESTTHE FLIGHTTORQUIL'S SUCCESSTHE HIDDEN VALLEYBy MURIEL HINE
THE MURDER ON THE LINKSPOIROT INVESTIGATESBy AGATHA CHRISTIE
ROOKERY NOOK By BEN TRAVERS
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