Three millions! or, The way of the world
“Will you, indeed? I thought you were opposed to these institutions.”
“Not to the bowling or the billiards, but to the gambling, drinking,
and swearing, which always go with them. We will make these amusements
decent and respectable. No drinking, no profanity, no gambling will
be allowed on our premises. Young men must have amusements; let them
be innocent amusements, and we may cheat the devil out of many a fine
young fellow.”
“What is the next story for?”
“The library, the reading and conversation rooms.”
“Good; but a ten-strike in the basement might disturb the politicians
up stairs, or upset the lucubrations of the philosophical student,
buried in the contents of the Edinburgh or North British.”
“The floor can be made of brick or stone, so that the noise will not
disturb the readers or the talkers. The upper story will be for the
lecture-room.”
Eugene was satisfied with the idea, and so was Dick Birch. Both were
confident that this institution would place Poppleton one step nearer
paradise. New instructions were immediately sent to the architect, who
was preparing the plans.
Dr. Lynch had been absent a month. Poppleton missed him very much. The
people spoke kindly of him. He “felt bad,” and they pitied him. The
invalids wanted their physician. Dr. White could not fill his place.
Dr. Lynch had a way of making people believe they were very sick, when
they desired to think so; then he understood their cases; he knew their
constitutions better than any other man. He could look so sad and
sympathizing in an emergency which required nothing but a brown-bread
pill to restore the patient to perfect health. If a man did not want
to be very sick, he could often accommodate him. A patient with a bad
liver had his pork and coffee stopped for a month, and got well on
faith in a compound of molasses and water, medicinally impregnated
with essence of sassafras. The doctor had tact; he doctored people’s
imaginations, quite as much as their bodies, when the circumstances
indicated such an array of remedial agents.
The invalids wanted their doctor. Mrs. Brown hoped the Lord would spare
her from any sickness till Dr. Lynch came back. Mrs. Jones would
certainly die if she had one of her ill turns in his absence. Squire
Green was sure he could not survive another attack of liver complaint,
if his old doctor, who had twice saved his life, could not attend him.
Deacon Smith might as well speak for his gravestone at once if Dr.
Lynch did not return before spring. The popular physician had made
a bad mistake in the Buckstone business; but all men make mistakes,
and he was no worse than others. He had perjured himself, wronged an
innocent man; but he had taken it all back; he had done all he could,
and angels could no more.
The ship-masters, the ship-builders, the bank officers, and the mill
agents, who were wont to eat evening suppers at the Bell River House,
declared that the doctor had been the life and soul of the party; and
they hoped he would come back. He had been a little too sharp for his
own interest; but there were a great many worse men than Dr. Lynch, who
still held up their heads in society.
Everybody condemned the conduct of the doctor, but all hoped he would
return. Eugene Hungerford spoke tenderly of him, and Mr. Birch, the man
of all others who had the right to denounce him, was never heard to say
a word against him. The public voice preached the cardinal doctrine of
Christianity: “And now abideth faith, hope, charity--these three; but
the greatest of these is charity.” So said Poppleton, and the doctor
was forgiven.
At the end of the month Dr. Lynch came back, to close up his business
affairs, previous to his final departure. The people protested. Squire
Green was down with the liver complaint, and as a special favor, the
doctor consented to see him; then to attend him while he remained.
There was a supper of the club at the hotel; seven times the doctor
positively refused to be present, and finally went. A man at the Mills
had his leg crushed on the railroad; the doctor reluctantly consented
to amputate it. Mrs. Jones had an ill turn; he could not refuse her
earnest petition. He performed all these kind acts with apparent
unwillingness, and still continued to talk of going. The pressure
brought to bear upon him was tremendous, and he could not resist it.
A new sign, with the name of “Dr. Lynch” upon it, was nailed to his
office door, for, the doctor facetiously added, his practice was
already sufficient, and the name could no longer injure him.
The doctor was invited to visit Pine Hill; he declined. He could not
look Julia in the face, he said. He was ashamed of his conduct. She
could not help despising him. He did love her, but it was right that he
should suffer.
“Mr. Hungerford, I am no hypocrite,” added the doctor. “When I say
suffer, I mean so. God knows how gladly I would resume my old intimacy
with your family; but I shall remain a voluntary exile. I do not
deserve any further kindness at your hands.”
“We shall forget the past. We do not ask you to punish yourself so
severely. Mr. Birch would be as glad to see you at Pine Hill as I
should.”
“He overwhelms me with his generosity. He loves Julia; so do I. I will
not go.”
“That does not alter the case.”
“I will not seem to come between him and her.”
“Julia cannot be bargained for.”
“No; but I can prove my regard for Mr. Birch, my willingness to suffer
for his sake, by not attempting to win her. If this involves any
presumption on my part, it does not affect my intentions towards our
mutual friend. Let us change the topic, Mr. Hungerford,” added the
doctor, as he unlocked a closet and took from it a human skull.
Eugene was annoyed.
“One more act of justice yet remains to be done, Mr. Hungerford. This
is the skull of Buckstone.”
“Indeed!” exclaimed Eugene, disgusted at the idea it suggested.
“Here is the part where Ross struck the fatal blow,” added the doctor,
pointing to a place on the skull where the bone was beaten in and
broken.
“Why do you keep it?”
“I do not purpose to do so. I shall employ the sexton who buried the
body to put this in the coffin. I will restore the brain, which I have
kept in spirits. If you please, I will explain to you the nature of Mr.
Dunbar’s disease, and show you in this brain just what the trouble was.”
“No, I thank you,” replied Eugene.
Whether the skull and brain were ever returned to the body in the
ground Eugene never inquired. He went home and reported what the doctor
had said about coming to Pine Hill. Even Julia declared that he was too
nice--more nice than wise. But, in less than a week from this time, Dr.
Lynch did go to Pine Hill. It was midnight--dark, cold, and stormy.
Mrs. Hungerford had been suffering, for several days, with a severe
cold; and in the night her symptoms had suddenly assumed a form which
alarmed Julia. The sufferer wanted Dr. Lynch, if she had any physician.
She had unbounded confidence in him. Eugene went for the doctor himself.
“Don’t you think you had better procure some other physician, Mr.
Hungerford?” asked the doctor, who seemed to be much troubled at the
idea of going to Pine Hill.
“You surely will not refuse to go, Dr. Lynch?”
“Of course I am entirely willing to go; I would do anything for your
family; but don’t you think, under the circumstances, that it would be
better to call another physician?”
“My mother particularly desired to have you. If you are not willing to
go----”
“I am entirely willing to go, Mr. Hungerford. Do not misunderstand me.”
“My mother is very sick; be as quick as possible.”
“I will be with you in a moment,” replied the doctor, as he hastened
his preparations. “I would go a thousand miles to serve your mother,
but of course I must meet Julia.”
“That cannot be avoided, even if you wish to avoid it.”
Eugene thought that Dr. Lynch exhibited a degree of delicacy and
consideration which few men possessed. He certainly appeared to be
sincere in his purpose to renounce his claims, if any he had, upon
Julia.
The doctor was shown to the room of Mrs. Hungerford. Julia was there,
sad and troubled. She gave her hand to the physician, and warmly
greeted him. She thought only of her mother, and she believed that he
would save her if human skill could do so.
“I am sorry to meet you under such unpleasant circumstances, after my
absence,” said the doctor, as he took off his overcoat, and opened his
trunk.
“Why didn’t you come when we sent for you? We should have been glad to
see you.”
“Thank you; but I did not feel like coming. You have learned to despise
me, and I submit, for I deserve it.”
“Far from it, doctor. We have never ceased to be grateful to you. I am
afraid mother is very sick.”
“I fear she is, from the sound of her breathing.”
The doctor bent over her. She gave him her hand, and, hardly able to
speak, expressed her pleasure at seeing him again. He felt her pulse,
applied his ear to her chest, making a very careful examination of her
condition. He shook his head, and Julia trembled like an aspen. He
spoke of lung fever. It was a dangerous disease at the patient’s time
of life, and with her peculiar constitution. But the doctor went to
work. He gave her medicine; he applied poultices, draughts, lotions.
He did not leave her bedside during the remainder of the night. Before
daylight she was comparatively comfortable, and slept a little.
Dr. Lynch said the physician had not been called soon enough; and Mrs.
Hungerford had typhoid-pneumonia. For two weeks he was as diligent,
as watchful, as interested, apparently, as he had been in Julia’s
illness. It was a sickly season in Poppleton, and he was worked night
and day. He grew pale; he would drop asleep while sitting at the
bedside of his Pine Hill patient. Julia was afraid the doctor would be
sick himself; but he would remit no portion of his attentions to her
mother.
Mrs. Hungerford began to improve. Again came rich wines, grapes from
foreign shores, and bouquets from the conservatories of the great city;
but whether or not the doctor brought these things for consistency’s
sake, the reader may judge. At any rate, no one at Pine Hill thought
of the errors of Dr. Lynch; in fact, he was again the demigod of Pine
Hill. His patient had not been as near to death’s door as Julia was;
but she might have been if the doctor had been less faithful, less
skilful; might have died in the hands of an ordinary physician; so the
family were willing to believe.
Dr. Lynch saw Julia every day, several times a day, during her mother’s
severe illness. He sat for hours with her by the bedside of the
invalid. His former relations were apparently reëstablished, and he did
not conceal from her the pleasure her society afforded him.
“Your mother is pretty well now, Miss Hungerford,” said he, one day,
when the patient was down stairs. “I think she needs a physician no
longer.”
“But you will see her occasionally, doctor?”
“Perhaps not; it is hardly proper for me to come here, except
professionally,” replied the doctor, glancing into the fair eyes of the
beautiful girl.
“Proper--why not?” said she, her cheek glowing.
“It depends upon circumstances. If you will favor me with ten minutes’
private conversation, I can answer better.”
“I will, with pleasure. Take a seat, doctor.”
It was in the sitting-room, and they were alone.
CHAPTER XXIX.
FORGIVE AND FORGET.
Julia doubtless anticipated the subject of the interview. Her cheek was
crimson, but there was a certain resolution manifested in her eye which
might have foreboded ill to the doctor’s hopes, or might have been
merely the effect of that bracing up of the nerves which is necessary
to enable a maiden to meet what she desires, yet dreads.