Part 49 (1/2)

Mrs. Coombe was getting some ”things” made at Miss Milligan's. It had been rumoured at first that she had contemplated running down to Toronto and Detroit, buying most of her trousseau there, but for some unexplained reason the plan had been given up. Doctor Callandar, it appeared, believed in patronising local tradesmen and had been sufficiently ungallant to veto the Detroit visit altogether. Everybody wondered why Mary Coombe stood it. Surely it was bad enough when a man sets up to be a domestic tyrant after marriage. They were surprised at Dr. Callandar--they hadn't thought it of him.

”It is women like Mary Coombe who submit tamely to such indignities,”

declared the eldest Miss Sinclair, ”who have held back the emanc.i.p.ation of women from the beginning of time.”

”She looks so poorly, too,” agreed Miss Jessie. ”I am sure she needs a change. I should think that Esther would insist upon it.”

But Esther appeared in all things to back up Dr. Callandar. People admitted that they were disappointed in Esther and only hoped that the day would never come when she would be sorry. For if all the world loves a lover, all the world is indulgent to a prospective bride and any one could see that this particular bride was being denied her proper privileges. Any one would think she was a child and not to be trusted alone. Esther went with her everywhere, simply everywhere. Of course it was sweet of Esther to be so attentive, but people didn't wonder that her mother didn't like it.

Such were the current comments of the town, sent out somewhat in the nature of feelers, for behind them all, Coombe, having a very sensitive nose for gossip, was uneasily aware that their cleverest investigators were not yet in possession of the root of the matter. Every one seemed to know everything, and yet--no wonder that Miss Milligan picked her teeth in agonies of mental tumult at finding herself sole possessor of a satisfactory explanation which she was bound in honour not to disclose.

Mrs. Coombe had just been in. She had been having a ”first fitting” and in the privacy of the fitting room she had been perfectly frank with Miss Milligan. She had told Miss Milligan ”things.” She had told her things which would move a heart of stone, regardless of the fact that Miss Milligan's heart was made of the softest of soft materials and beat warmly under her spiky pin cus.h.i.+on. The fact that her eyes were hard and black had nothing to do with it; mistakes in eyes occur constantly in the best regulated families. At this very moment when her eyes were more like currants than ever she was making up her mind that, come what might, doctors or no doctors, she was not going to see a fellow creature put upon.

For, you see, Mrs. Coombe, poor little thing, had confided in Miss Milligan. She had told her all about it, and like most mysteries, it had turned out to be very simple. It seemed that Dr. Callandar, such a perfectly charming man in most respects, had a most absurd prejudice against patent medicines. This prejudice, common to the medical profession on account of patents interfering with profits, was, in Dr.

Callandar's case, almost an obsession. Miss Milligan, being a sensible person, knew very well that there are patents _and_ patents. Some of them are frauds, of course, but there are others which are better than any prescription that any doctor ever wrote. Miss Milligan did not speak from hearsay, she had had an extensive experience the results of which lent themselves to conversational effort. Therefore it is easy to see how she understood and sympathised at once when Mrs. Coombe told her of a remedy which she had found to be quite excellent but which the doctor absolutely forbade her to use.

”Not that he means to be inconsiderate, dear Miss Milligan, only he is so very sure of his own point of view. Doctors have to be firm of course. But you can see it is rather hard on me. The trouble is that I cannot obtain the remedy I need in Coombe. It is a remedy very little known and useful only in obscure nerve troubles. I have been in the habit of getting it from a certain firm in Detroit, not a very well-known firm, and now, of course, that is impossible--without upsetting the doctor, which I hesitate to do.”

Miss Milligan was of the opinion that a little upsetting was just what the doctor required.

”No--o.” The visitor shook her head. She could not bring her mind to it.

She would prefer to suffer herself. But did not Miss Milligan think that, in face of such an unreasonable and violent prejudice, a little innocent strategy might be justified?

Miss Milligan thought so, very emphatically.

Mrs. Coombe sighed. ”I do so want to look well for the wedding, you know. And really, nothing seems to help me like my own particular medicine. It is hard, very hard, to be without it.”

Miss Milligan did not doubt it. It seemed, to her, a perfect shame. But had Mrs. Coombe ever tried ”Peebles' Perfect Pick-me-ups” for the nerves? They were certainly very excellent.

Yes. Mrs. Coombe had heard of them and no doubt they were very good for some people. But const.i.tutions differ so. On the whole she felt sure that even ”Peebles' Perfect Pick-me-ups” would not suit her nearly as well as her own particular remedy.

It was at this point that Miss Milligan stopped fitting and began to pick her teeth, a sign, as we have before stated, of great mental activity. If nothing would suit Mrs. Coombe but this one medicine and if the medicine could be obtained in Detroit and if Mrs. Coombe had the correct address--why not write for it? It was a brilliant idea, but Mrs.

Coombe shook her head.

She had the address, naturally, and she had also thought of writing, but it would be of no use. Esther and the doctor actually watched her mail.

”Incredible!”

”Oh, not in any offensive way. They did not mean to be tyrannous. They were quite convinced that patent medicines were very injurious. But women suffering from nerves (like yourself, dear Miss Milligan) know that relief is often found in the least likely places and from remedies not mentioned in the Materia Medica.”

Miss Milligan knew that very well. And people are so hard to convince.

When Mrs. Barker, over the hill, had first recommended that new blood-purifier to Miss Milligan, Miss Milligan had laughed. But after taking only six bottles she had thanked Mrs. Barker with tears in her eyes. ”And I must say,” added she in a burst of virtuous indignation, ”that if I were going to Detroit to-morrow I would bring you back all the patent medicine you wanted, Mrs. Coombe, and be very glad to do it.”

This was most satisfactory save for one small fact, namely that Miss Milligan was not going to Detroit to-morrow. Mrs. Coombe thanked her very much and raised her arm (which shook sadly) while Miss Milligan pinned in the underarm seam.

”Even as it is,” went on Miss Milligan, ”I don't see why--a little higher please, and turn a trifle to the light, thank you!--I don't see why it can't be done. n.o.body inspects my mail, thank heaven! and one address is as good to a druggist as another.”

What a bright idea! Strange that it had never occurred to Mrs. Coombe to arrange things so easily. It was very, very clever and kind of Miss Milligan to think of it. But--people might talk! Think how upset the doctor would be if their innocent little plot were spoken of abroad.