Part 70 (2/2)

Dr. Wycherley smiled with a sort of benevolent superiority that galled his patient, and proceeded to inquire after his nightly visions and voices. But at this Alfred looked grave as well as surprised and vexed.

He was on his guard now, and asked himself seriously what was the meaning of all this, and could his father have been so mad as to talk over his own shame with this stranger: he made no reply whatever.

Dr. Wycherley's curiosity was not of a very ardent kind: for he was one of those who first form an opinion, and then collect the materials of one: and a very little fact goes a long way with such minds. So, when he got no answer about the nocturnal visions and voices, he glided calmly on to another matter. ”By-the-bye, that L. 14,000!”

Alfred started, and then eyed him keenly: ”What L. 14,000?”

”The fabulous sum you labour under the impression of your father having been guilty of clandestinely appropriating.”

This was too much for Alfred's patience. ”I don't know who you are, sir,” said he; ”I never exchanged but three words in my life with you; and do you suppose I will talk to a stranger on family matters of so delicate a kind as this? I begin to think you have intruded yourself on me simply to gratify an impertinent curiosity.”

”The hypothesis is at variance with my established character,” replied the oleaginous one. ”Do me the justice to believe in the necessity of this investigation, and that it is one of a most friendly character.”

”Then I decline the double nuisance: your curiosity and your friends.h.i.+p!

Take them both out of my room, sir, or I shall turn them both out by one pair of shoulders.”

”You shall smart for this,” said the doctor, driven to plain English by anger, that great solvent of circ.u.mlocution with which Nature has mercifully supplied us. He made to the door, opened it, and said in considerable excitement to some one outside, ”Excited!--Very!”

Now Dr. Pleonast had no sooner been converted to the vernacular, and disappeared, than another stranger entered the room. He had evidently been lurking in the pa.s.sage: it was a man of smallish stature, singularly gaunt, angular, and haggard, but dressed in a spruce suit of black, tight, new, and glossy. In short, he looked like Romeo's apothecary gone to Stultz with the money. He fluttered in with pale cheek and apprehensive body, saying hurriedly, ”Now, my _dear_ sir, _be_ calm: _pray_ be calm. I have come down all the way from London to see you, and I am _sure_ you won't make me lose my journey; will you now?”

”And pray who asked you to come all the way from London, sir?”

”A person to whom your health is very dear.”

”Oh indeed; so I have secret friends, have I? Well, you may tell my secret, underhand, _friends,_ I never was better in my life.”

”I am truly glad to hear it,” said the little man: ”let me introduce myself, as Dr. Wycherley forgot to do it.” And he handed Alfred a card, on which his name and profession were written.

”Well, Mr. Speers,” said Alfred, ”I have only a moment to give you, for I must dress for dinner. What do you want?”

”I come, sir, in hopes of convincing your friends you are not so very ill; not incurable. Why your eye is steady, your complexion good: a little high with the excitement of this conversation; but, if we can only get over this little delusion, all will be well.”

”What little delusion?”

”About the L. 14,000, you know.”

”What L. 14,000? I have not mentioned L. 14,000 to you, have I?”

”No, sir: you seem to shun it like poison; that is the worst of it. You talk about it to others fast enough: but to Dr. Wycherley and myself, who could cure you of it, you would hide all about it, if you could.”

At this Alfred rose and put his hands in his pockets and looked down grimly on his inquisitor. ”Mr. Speers,” said he, ”you had better go.

There is no credit to be gained by throwing so small an apothecary as you out of that window; and _you_ won't find it pleasant either; for, if you provoke me to it, I shall not stand upon ceremony: I shan't open the window first, as I should for Dr. What's his confounded name.”

At these suggestive words, spoken with suppressed ire and flas.h.i.+ng eyes, Speers scuttled to the door crabwise, holding the young lion in check conventionally--to wit, with an eye as valiant as a sheep's; and a joyful apothecary was he when he found himself safe outside the house and beside Dr. Wycherley, who was waiting for him.

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