Part 70 (1/2)
”No, an' I dunna. I drink a drop o' beer, if that's what you ca'
touchin' alcohol. An' I'm none th' wuss for it, tha sees.”
”You've heard what I've told you.”
”Ah, I have.”
”And if you go on with the beer, you may go on with curing yourself.
_I_ shan't attend you. You know I mean what I say, Mrs.
Larrick”--this to the wife.
”I do, doctor. And I know it's true what you say. An' I'm at him night an' day about it--”
”Oh well, if he will hear no reason, he must suffer for it. He mustn't think _I'm_ going to be running after him, if he disobeys my orders.” And the doctor stalked off, and the woman began to complain.
None the less the women had their complaints against Dr. Mitch.e.l.l.
If ever Alvina entered a clean house on a wet day, she was sure to hear the housewife chuntering.
”Oh my lawk, come in nurse! What a day! Doctor's not been yet. And he's bound to come now I've just cleaned up, trapesin' wi' his gret feet. He's got the biggest understandin's of any man i' Lancaster.
My husband says they're the best pair o' pasties i' th' kingdom. An'
he does make such a mess, for he never stops to wipe his feet on th'
mat, marches straight up your clean stairs--”
”Why don't you tell him to wipe his feet?” said Alvina.
”Oh my word! Fancy me telling him! He'd jump down my throat with both feet afore I'd opened my mouth. He's not to be spoken to, he isn't. He's my-lord, he is. You mustn't look, or you're done for.”
Alvina laughed. She knew they all liked him for browbeating them, and having a heart over and above.
Sometimes he was given a good hit--though nearly always by a man. It happened he was in a workman's house when the man was at dinner.
”Canna yer gi'e a man summat better nor this 'ere pap, Missis?” said the hairy husband, turning up his nose at the rice pudding.
”Oh go on,” cried the wife. ”I hadna time for owt else.” Dr.
Mitch.e.l.l was just stooping his handsome figure in the doorway.
”Rice pudding!” he exclaimed largely. ”You couldn't have anything more wholesome and nouris.h.i.+ng. I have a rice pudding every day of my life--every day of my life, I do.”
The man was eating his pudding and pearling his big moustache copiously with it. He did not answer.
”Do you doctor!” cried the woman. ”And never no different.”
”Never,” said the doctor.
”Fancy that! You're that fond of them?”
”I find they agree with me. They are light and digestible. And my stomach is as weak as a baby's.”
The labourer wiped his big moustache on his sleeve.