Part 9 (1/2)

Outside in the market-place I stood for a moment, drawing in the cool air. I took Helen's arm and was about to move on when I felt a hand on my shoulder. I looked down at the sweet face of Mrs. Dryden. She was smiling at me.

”Eee, Mr. Herriot, I'm right sorry you didn't get the house, but you've done a lot for me-you'll never know how much. I've got all that extra money to put by me, thanks to you. Believe me, it'll make all the difference in the world. I can't thank you enough.”

As she walked away, I looked at her thin, bent figure and her white hair. There was the wife of good old Bob Dryden and he would have been pleased. I had done something after all.

Chapter 13.

I UNWOUND THE SPIRAL Hudson's instrument from the cow's teat and drew forth a strong jet of milk.

”Eee, that's wonderful, marvellous,” breathed Mr. Dowson reverently. ”I don't know 'ow you do it-you've saved me again. You're a great man, Mr. Herriot.”

We were still doing a lot of these teat operations, because milking-machines had not come into general use and the farmers' h.o.r.n.y-handed pulling at the cows' teats often resulted in damage to the lining and blockage. It wasn't a particularly popular procedure with the vets, because there was an excellent chance of having your head kicked off as you crouched down there by the udder, but it was undeniably satisfying to bring a useless teat back to life. A lot of a cow's value was lost when she became a ”three-t.i.tted 'un.”

However, valuable though the operation was to a farmer, it was most unusual to receive profuse grat.i.tude like Mr. Dowson's. But it was always like that with him. He poured praise on me and though, over the years, I was sure that all my cases on his farm hadn't been triumphs, that was how he pictured it. If anything had gone wrong in the past he would never admit it.

This was in direct contrast to most of our farmer clients. No matter how brilliant a feat of healing we pulled off we very rarely heard anything about it. Siegfried's theory was that they didn't like to mention our cures in case we put a bit extra on the bill, and he may have had a point because they never failed to inform us about our failures-”Hey, that beast you treated never did any good,” often embarra.s.singly shouted across a crowded market-place.

Be that as it may, Mr. Dowson's att.i.tude was always balm to my soul. He was gazing at me now as I put the instrument back in its bottle of spirit, his little brown face crinkled in a benevolent smile. He pulled off his cap and smoothed back the straggling white hair from his brow.

”Ah don't know. There's no end to your cleverness. I was just thinking of that cow of mine with magnesium deficiency. She was laid there like a dead thing-ah was sure she'd stopped breathin'-but you put a bottle into 'er vein, then you looked at your watch. 'Mr. Dowson,' you said, 'this beast will get up on her legs in exactly twelve and a half minutes.' ?

”I did?”

”Ah'm not jokin' nor jestin', that's what you said, and you can believe me or believe me not, just the very second the hands on your watch got round to twelve and a half minutes that cow jumped up and walked away.”

”Good heavens! Did she really?”

”She did that, and I'll tell you summat else, she's never looked back since.”

”Well, that's great.” I had the same feeling of bewilderment as I always felt at Mr. Dowson's panegyrics. I could never remember the magical things I had done, but it was very pleasant all the same. Was I really that brilliant or did he make it all up? His habitual phrase of ”believe me or believe me not” suggested that he may have had doubts about it himself, but that didn't alter the fact that his eulogies were always delivered with the greatest certainty and emphasis.

Even the surroundings of his farm were idyllic, and as I walked to my car with a gentle breeze, full of the scents of summer, eddying around me, I looked back at the little farmhouse tucked into the green hillside that dipped down over rig and furrow to the river, sparkling in the suns.h.i.+ne.

As always, I drove away in a rosy glow with Mr. Dowson waving till I was out of sight.

I was back there again within a week to deal with a calving heifer. Mr. Dowson was worried because she was overdue, but the delivery was uneventful and I soon had a large bull calf snuffling and snorting among the straw in the byre.

”Well, that's fine,” I said. ”Sometimes these big calves are a bit late. It was a tight squeeze, but all's well.”

”Aye, aye,” said the farmer. ”There was no need to worry. I should've known. You told me more than a month ago that that heifer would be exackly five days late, and you were right as usual.”

”Did I really say that? I don't see how I would know....”

He shrugged his shoulders. ”Well, Mr. Herriot, them was your words. I ought to remember them.”

As we left the byre, Mr. Dowson stopped to pat a little Dales pony that was happily cropping the gra.s.s by the side of the house. ”Remember this little feller? Remember that bad stoppage he had?”

”Ah, yes, of course I do. He looks fine now.”

”He does that, and by gaw 'e was ill! Thought ah was going to lose 'im. Right bunged up and groanin' in pain he was. I'd given him all sorts o' medicines to try to move 'is bowels but they did no good!-nothing came through 'im for two whole days. Then I got you in and I'll never forget what you did.”

”What did I do?”

”Ah tell ye, it were like a miracle. You came in the morning and you gave him two injections and you said to me, 'Mr. Dowson, his bowels will move at two o'clock this afternoon.' ?

”I said that?”

”You did an' all, and then you said, 'At first he'll pa.s.s exackly a handful, just like this.' ? He cupped his hands to ill.u.s.trate. ”And right on two o'clock that's what 'e did. No more, no less.”

”Gos.h.!.+”

”Aye, and then you said, 'At half past two he'll pa.s.s just enough to fill that small shovel.' ? Mr. Dowson hurried busily over to the house and picked up a little shovel that stood by the coal-bunker. He held it out to me. ”There's the very thing. And right on the dot by my watch he pa.s.sed just the amount you said. I measured it.”

”Never! Are you sure?”

”You can believe me or believe me not. Then you said, 'At three o'clock he'll have a good clear-out,' and that's just what happened. I was lookin' at my watch when he c.o.c.ked his tail and got rid of everything that was troubling 'im. And he's been right as ninepence ever since.”

”Well, that's wonderful, Mr. Dowson. I'm so pleased to hear it.” I shook my head to dispel the mists of fantasy that had begun to billow around me. I am a run-of-the-mill veterinary surgeon, hard-working and conscientious, but that's all, and it knocks me out of my stride to be hailed as a genius, but as always, listening to Mr. Dowson was like soothing oil being poured on my oft-bruised ego. I had to admit I enjoyed it, and I didn't demur when he went on.

”And while you're 'ere, just have a look at this pig.” He took my arm and led me into an outbuilding. ”There she is,” he said, leaning over a pen and pointing to a fine big sow stretched on the straw with a litter of piglets sucking busily at her teats. ”That's the one that had that nasty great swelling on her foot. Dead lame she was, and I was right worried about 'er. You gave her a jab and left me some salve to rub on the lump and next morning it was gone!”

”You mean...it vanished overnight? All of it?”

”Aye, that's right, ah'm not jokin' nor jestin'. It was gone!”

”Well...that's quite amazing.”

”Not to me, it isn't, Mr. Herriot. Everything you do for me turns out right. Ah don't know what I'd do without you.”

Even through my confusion I found his faith touching. I hoped it would never be shattered.

I thought that moment had arrived when Mr. Dowson called me to his farm a few weeks later.

”What's the trouble this time?” I asked.

The old man rubbed his chin. ”Well, it's a funny one, I tell you. It's this calf.” He pointed to a st.u.r.dy young animal about a month old. ”He won't drink 'is milk properly. Look. I'll show ye.” He tipped some milk into a big bucket and set it down in front of the little creature, but the calf, instead of drinking, put his head down and, with a fierce b.u.t.t, sent the bucket flying, spilling the milk in all directions.

”Does he do this every time?”

”Aye, knocks it over every time. It's a dang nuisance. Wastes me good milk, too.”

I examined the calf, then turned to the farmer. ”He seems perfectly healthy to me.”