Part 10 (1/2)
”In what way?”
”Oh, just lyin' stretched out, unconscious, like.”
I suppressed a scream. ”When did this happen?”
”Just found 'im this morning. And Mr. Fawcett can't bring him to you-he's poorly himself. He's in bed.”
”I'm sorry to hear that. I'll come round straight away.”
And it was just the same as before. An almost lifeless little creature lying p.r.o.ne on d.i.c.k's bed. d.i.c.k himself looked terrible-ghastly white and thinner than ever-but he still managed a smile.
”Looks like 'e needs another of your magic injections, Mr. Herriot.”
As I filled my syringe, my mind seethed with the thought that there was indeed some kind of magic at work here, but it wasn't my injection.
”I'll drop in tomorrow, d.i.c.k,” I said. ”And I hope you'll be feeling better yourself.”
”Oh, I'll be awright as long as t'little feller's better.” The old man stretched out a hand and stroked the cat's s.h.i.+ning fur. The arm was emaciated and the eyes in the skull-like face were desperately worried.
I looked around the comfortless little room and hoped for another miracle.
I wasn't really surprised when I came back next morning and saw Frisk darting about on the bed, pawing at a piece of string the old man was holding up for him. The relief was great but I felt enveloped more suffocatingly than ever in my fog of ignorance. What the h.e.l.l was it? The whole thing just didn't make sense. There was no known disease with symptoms like these. I had a strong conviction that reading a whole library of veterinary books wouldn't help me.
Anyway, the sight of the little cat arching and purring round my hand was reward enough, and for d.i.c.k it was everything. He was relaxed and smiling.
”You keep gettin' him right, Mr. Herriot. I can't thank you enough.” Then the worry flickered again in his eyes. ”But is he goin' to keep doing it? I'm frightened he won't come round one of these times.”
Well, that was the question. I was frightened, too, but I had to try to be cheerful. ”Maybe it's just a pa.s.sing phase, d.i.c.k. I hope we'll have no more trouble now.” But I couldn't promise anything and the frail man in the bed knew it.
Mrs. Duggan was showing me out when I saw the district nurse getting out of her car at the front door.
”h.e.l.lo, Nurse,” I said. ”You've come to have a look at Mr. Fawcett? I'm sorry he's ill.”
She nodded. ”Yes, poor old chap. It's a great shame.”
”What do you mean? Is it something serious?”
”Afraid so.” Her mouth tightened and she looked away from me. ”He's dying. It's cancer. Getting rapidly worse.”
”My G.o.d! Poor d.i.c.k. And a few days ago he was bringing his cat to my surgery. He never said a word. Does he know?”
”Oh, yes, he knows, but that's him all over, Mr. Herriot. He's as game as a pebble. He shouldn't have been out, really.”
”Is he...is he...suffering?”
She shrugged. ”Getting a bit of pain now, but we're keeping him as comfortable as we can with medication. I give him a shot when necessary and he has some stuff he can take himself if I'm not around. He's very shaky and can't pour from the bottle into the spoon. Mrs. Duggan would gladly do it for him, but he's so independent.” She smiled for a moment. ”He pours the mixture into a saucer and spoons it up that way.”
”A saucer...?” Somewhere in the fog a little light glimmered. ”What's in the mixture?”
”Oh, heroin and pethidine. It's the usual thing Dr. Allinson prescribes.”
I seized her arm. ”I'm coming back in with you, Nurse.”
The old man was surprised when I reappeared. ”What's the matter, Mr. Herriot? Have you left summat?”
”No, d.i.c.k, I want to ask you something. Is your medicine pleasant-tasting?”
”Aye, it's nice and sweet. It isn't bad to take at all.”
”And you put it in a saucer?”
”That's right. Me hand's a bit dothery.”
”And when you take it last thing at night there's sometimes a bit left in the saucer?”
”Aye, there is. Why?”
”Because you leave that saucer by your bedside, don't you, and Frisk sleeps on your bed...”
The old man lay very still as he stared at me. ”You mean the little beggar licks it out?”
”I'll bet my boots he does.”
d.i.c.k threw back his head and laughed. A long, joyous laugh. ”And that sends 'im to sleep! No wonder! It makes me right dozy, too!”
I laughed with him. ”Anyway, we know now, d.i.c.k. You'll put that saucer in the cupboard when you've taken your dose, won't you?”
”I will that, Mr. Herriot. And Frisk will never pa.s.s out like that again?”
”No, never again.”
”Eee, that's grand!” He sat up in bed, lifted the little cat and held him against his face. He gave a sigh of utter content and smiled at me.
”Mr. Herriot,” he said. ”I've got nowt to worry about now.”
Out in the street, as I bade Mrs. Duggan goodbye for the second time, I looked back at the little house. ” 'Nowt to worry about,' eh? That's rather wonderful, coming from him.”
”Oh aye, and he means it, too. He's not bothered about himself.”
I didn't see d.i.c.k again for two weeks. I was visiting a friend in Darrowby's little cottage hospital when I saw the old man in a bed in a corner of the ward.
I went over and sat down by his side. His face was desperately thin, but serene.
”h.e.l.lo, d.i.c.k,” I said.
He looked at me sleepily and spoke in a whisper. ”Now then, Mr. Herriot.” He closed his eyes for a few moments, then he looked up again with the ghost of a smile. ”I'm glad we found out what was wrong with t'little cat.”