Volume I Part 14 (1/2)
”Well, then,” said Conyers, ”if you have n't courage for this, let me do it; let me speak to your father.”
”What could you say to him?” asked Tom, doggedly.
”Say to him?--what could I say to him?” repeated he, as he lighted a fresh cigar, and affected to be eagerly interested in the process. ”It's clear enough what I 'd say to him.”
”Let us hear it, then,” growled out Tom, for he had a sort of coa.r.s.e enjoyment at the other's embarra.s.sment. ”I 'll be the doctor now, and listen to you.” And with this he squared his chair full in front of Conyers, and crossed his arms imposingly on his chest ”You said you wanted to speak to me about my son Tom, Mr. Conyers; what is it you have to say?”
”Well, I suppose I'd open the matter delicately, and, perhaps, adroitly.
I 'd say, 'I have remarked, doctor, that your son is a young fellow of very considerable abilities--'”
”For what?” broke in Tom, huskily.
”Come, you 're not to interrupt in this fas.h.i.+on, or I can't continue. I 'd say something about your natural cleverness; and what a pity it would be if, with very promising talents, you should not have those fair advantages which lead a man to success in life.”
”And do you know what _he_ 'd say to all that?”
”No.”
”Well, I'll tell you. He'd say 'Bother!' Just 'bother.'”
”What do you mean by 'bother'?”
”That what you were saying was all nonsense. That you did n't know, nor you never could know, the struggles of a man like himself, just to make the two ends meet; not to be rich, mind you, or lay by money, or have shares in this, or stocks in that, but just to live, and no more.”
”Well, I'd say, 'Give him a few hundred pounds, and start him.'”
”Why don't you say a few thousands? It would sound grander, and be just as likely. Can't you see that everybody hasn't a Lieutenant-General for a father? and that what you 'd give for a horse--that would, maybe, be staked to-morrow--would perhaps be a fortune for a fellow like me?
What's that I hear coming up the river? That's the doctor, I 'm sure.
I 'll be off till he's gone.” And without waiting to hear a word, he sprang from his chair and disappeared in the wood.
Dr. Dill only waited a few seconds to compose his features, somewhat excited by what he had overheard; and then coughing loudly, to announce his approach, moved gravely along the gravel path.
”And how is my respected patient?” asked he, blandly. ”Is the inflammation subsiding, and are our pains diminished?”
”My ankle is easier, if you mean that,” said Conyers, bluntly.
”Yes, much easier,--much easier,” said the doctor, examining the limb; ”and our cellular tissue has less effusion, the sheaths of the tendons freer, and we are generally better. I perceive you have had the leeches applied. Did Tom--my son--give you satisfaction? Was he as attentive and as careful as you wished?”
”Yes, I liked him. I wish he 'd come up every day while I remain. Is there any objection to that arrangement?”
”None, dear sir,--none. His time is fully at your service; he ought to be working hard. It is true he should be reading eight or ten hours a day, for his examination; but it is hard to persuade him to it. Young men will be young men!”
”I hope so, with all my heart. At least, I, for one, don't want to be an old one. Will you do me a favor, doctor? and will you forgive me if I don't know how to ask it with all becoming delicacy? I'd like to give Tom a helping hand. He's a good fellow,--I 'm certain he is. Will you let me send him out to India, to my father? He has lots of places to give away, and he 'd be sure to find something to suit him. You have heard of General Conyers, perhaps, the political resident at Delhi?
That's my governor.” In the hurry and rapidity with which he spoke, it was easy to see how he struggled with a sense of shame and confusion.
Dr. Dill was profuse of acknowledgments; he was even moved as he expressed his grat.i.tude. ”It was true,” he remarked, ”that his life had been signalled by these sort of graceful services, or rather offers of services; for we are proud if we are poor, sir. 'Dill aut nil' is the legend of our crest, which means that we are ourselves or nothing.”
”I conclude everybody else is in the same predicament,” broke in Conyers, bluntly.
”Not exactly, young gentleman,--not exactly. I think I could, perhaps, explain--”