Part 20 (1/2)

”Isn't there such a thing as character?” bluntly.

”As distinct from the nervous system? Some say not. But we do not need to venture such a devastating belief to know, well, that a dyspeptic is usually disagreeable. In potential character he may be equal to the cheeriest man who ever ate a hearty dinner. Think of Carlyle.”

”I don't like Carlyle.”

”But don't you admire him?”

”No. Do you remember the story of the beggar who picked up his hat one day and instead of giving him sixpence, Carlyle said, 'Mon, ye may say ye hae picked up the hat of Thomas Carlyle.'”

The doctor laughed. ”Oh he had a guid conceit o' himself--must you go?”

For Esther had risen.

”Yes, thank you. Oh, please do not come with me. It is only a step. I'd much rather not. Mrs. Sykes would conclude that the whole family were in danger of immediate extinction.”

She was so evidently perturbed that the doctor laid down his hat, but for the first time it occurred to him that Mrs. Sykes was not an unmixed blessing.

Esther was holding out her hand.

”Then you think we can safely leave it until mother returns?”

”I think we shall have to, and if things have been going on as long as you think, a week more or less will make no very material difference. In any case we cannot examine a lady by force or prevent her from getting a prescription until one knows it to be dangerous.”

”No, of course not. Good-night, and--thank you, Doctor!”

”And I am not to be allowed to walk home with you?”

”Truly, I would rather not.”

”Then good-night, and don't worry.”

He watched her flit down the dusky path, heard the click of the gate latch, and turned back into the office to wonder why it seemed suddenly bare and empty!

CHAPTER XII

Mrs. Coombe had been in the city a week when one morning Ann, who was feeling lonely without Jane, sat swinging upon the five-barred gate and whistling intermittently for Bubble. She had become very tired of waiting. She knew that Bubble could hear. The five-barred gate was within easy hearing distance of the house, and both doors and windows of the office were open. Therefore it became each moment more evident that the whistles were being deliberately ignored.

”Horrid, nasty boy!” exclaimed Ann, climbing to a precarious seat on the highest of the five bars. ”Well, if he waits until I come to get him, he'll--just wait!”

It was very hot on the gate. The vacant field on the other side, where the Widow Peel pastured her cow, was hot, too, but if one cut across the field and circled the back of the Widow Peel's cottage one substantially lessened the distance between oneself and the cool deliciousness of the river. The Widow Peel was near-sighted and hardly ever noticed one rus.h.i.+ng over her beds of lettuce and carrots and onions, or if she did, she could not ”fit a name to 'em.”

Ann sighed and swung her brown legs. Should she or should she not go in search of Bubble? Going would mean a distasteful swallowing of proper pride; not going would mean--no Bubble. It would be a case of cutting off one's nose--Ann's small white teeth came together with a little click.

”I'll go. But I'll pay him out afterwards.”

With this thoroughly feminine decision she tumbled off the gate, raced across the orchard and, having paused a moment to regain breath and poise, appeared casually at the office door. The office looked cool and empty; Bubble was not upon his official stool. Perhaps, after all, he had not heard the whistles! Perhaps--

”What d'ye want?” asked a gruff voice from behind the desk.

Ann jumped, and then tried to look as if she hadn't.

”I knew you were there!” she said. ”But just you wait till the doctor catches you at it!” Mounting the step she frowned across at Bubble who, in the doctor's favourite att.i.tude, was reclining in the doctor's chair.