Part 54 (1/2)
DR. DOSEWELL (provoked to the utmost).--”Humbug!”
DR. MORGAN.--”Humbug! Cott in heaven! You old--”
DR. DOSEWELL.--”Old what, sir?”
DR. MORGAN (at home in a series of alliteral vowels, which none but a Cymbrian could have uttered without gasping).--”Old allopathical anthropophagite!”
DR. DOSEWELL (starting up, seizing by the back the chair on which he had sat, and bringing it down violently on its four legs).--”Sir!”
DR. MORGAN (imitating the action with his own chair).--”Sir!”
DR. DOSEWELL.--”You're abusive.”
DR. MORGAN.--”You're impertinent.”
DR. DOSEWELL.--”Sir!”
DR. MORGAN.--”Sir!”
The two rivals confronted each other.
They were both athletic men, and fiery men. Dr. Dosewell was the taller, but Dr. Morgan was the stouter. Dr. Dosewell on the mother's side was Irish; but Dr. Morgan on both sides was Welsh. All things considered, I would have backed Dr. Morgan if it had come to blows. But, luckily for the honour of science, here the chambermaid knocked at the door, and said, ”The coach is coming, sir.”
Dr. Morgan recovered his temper and his manners at that announcement.
”Dr. Dosewell,” said he, ”I have been too hot,--I apologize.”
”Dr. Morgan,” answered the allopathist, ”I forgot myself. Your hand, sir.”
DR. MORGAN.--”We are both devoted to humanity, though with different opinions. We should respect each other.”
DR. DOSEWELL.--”Where look for liberality, if men of science are illiberal to their brethren?”
DR. MORGAN (aside).--”The old hypocrite! He would pound me in a mortar if the law would let him.”
DR. DOSEWELL (aside).--”The wretched charlatan! I should like to pound him in a mortar.”
DR. MORGAN.--”Good-by, my esteemed and worthy brother.”
DR. DOSEWELL.--”My excellent friend, good-by.”
DR. MORGAN (returning in haste).--”I forgot. I don't think our poor patient is very rich. I confide him to your disinterested benevolence.”
(Hurries away.)
DR. DOSEWELL (in a rage).--”Seven miles at six o'clock in the morning, and perhaps done out of my fee! Quack! Villain!”
Meanwhile, Dr. Morgan had returned to the sick-room.
”I must wish you farewell,” said he to poor Mr. Digby, who was languidly sipping his tea. ”But you are in the hands of a--of a--gentleman in the profession.”