Others came also. Some of them refused to see him, while others consented, and with these on the whole he got on fairly well. Still, it was a tired young man who received Dr. Black upon his return and, retiring to his own compartment, joyfully left him to deal with the remaining appointments.
At length they were all worked through, and as they washed their hands together in the lavatory, Black congratulated Andrew on his modicum of success.
"You'll do all right," he said, "or would if you didn't look as if you had just come from school. I think a pair of glasses would help you, just window–glass in a frame, you know, and if you didn't mind, a little doctoring of your hair to give it a pepper–and–salt appearance; they would soon put up with the rest. But most of these old women can't stick a fellow who looks as though he has been sucking lollypops won in a bet on leap–frog."
Andrew, who felt nettled at these pointed allusions to the juvenility of his appearance, ignored the subject and asked what happened to the child who had swallowed the latch–key.
"Nothing at all," answered the doctor, "thanks to me. When I got there they had three of the big surgeons, to say nothing of an anæsthetist and two hospital nurses, and were just going to operate. 'Hold on a bit,' I said, 'for I am the family physician to this household.' Then I made a few investigations and, to cut the story short, I found the latch–key in the child's bed, where she had hidden it to tease the nurse who made use of it for her own purposes. After that she went to sleep and dreamed that she had swallowed it, and waking up of course simulated the symptoms, or they thought she did. My word! you never saw a crowd look sillier than did those learned members of our profession when I produced that key. One of them wanted to operate all the same, thinking that I had played a trick on them, but the patient has now gone for a walk in the park, while her parent is signing cheques for half–fees. But let us go to lunch, for I expect Arabella is waiting and nothing upsets her temper more than my being late for lunch. She's my daughter, you know, and I hope for your sake that she may take a liking for you, which is more than she has ever done to me. Or if she has, she conceals it very well. You be advised by me, and if she speaks of her health, shake your head and look sad. Above everything, don't tell her that she looks quite well, or is only suffering from too much money and nothing to do."
Then he led the way to the dining–room, Andrew following with some trepidation, for this description of Arabella frightened him.
From the doorway he caught sight of a tall and elegant–looking woman of about thirty years of age, very beautifully dressed, standing in front of a fire and staring at the clock.
"Hullo! my dear," said the Doctor with such boisterous geniality that Andrew suspected it of being forced, "are you here already?"
She looked round at him and Andrew saw that she was well–favoured enough, but with a thin–lipped, rather ill–tempered mouth and restless, discontented eyes, in almost every respect the exact opposite to her father, although oddly enough in her general appearance she resembled him.
"I have been here exactly forty–two minutes, Father," she said, pointing to the clock. "You may remember that our luncheon hour, fixed by yourself, is twenty minutes past one, which allows five minutes for accidental delay, and it is now twelve minutes past two, which means of course that all the food is spoiled and I shall have another attack of indigestion."
"Sorry, my love, but I was detained by another young lady―"
"Oh! don't trouble to explain, Father. I am quite aware that everybody comes before me. My health or convenience does not matter."
At this moment she caught sight of Andrew, who was hovering indeterminate in the doorway reflecting with affection on 13 Justice Street and Mrs. Josky, and her whole attitude changed.
"Is that Doctor West?" she asked with animation. "If so, you might introduce me. I should like to apologize to him for a spoiled luncheon."
Then Andrew rose to the occasion nobly.
"It is I, Miss Somerville Black, who have to apologize to you," he said humbly. "The truth is that owing to a stupid mistake I made, I am afraid that I delayed your father. You see, I am a novice here."
"Splendid," muttered Dr. Black.
"I quite understand," said Arabella, "but I am afraid that my wretched indigestion makes me peevish."
"No wonder," said Andrew. "Have you tried the new cure? We were very successful with it in Whitechapel."
"Oh! What is it?" she asked with intense interest, which evidently was shared by her father.
"Something very simple, so simple that I am almost afraid to mention it to you in your father's presence."
"Oh! don't mind me," broke in Dr. Black, "I'm always ready to learn."
"Well, then, it is hot water drunk before and after each meal, also on getting up and at bedtime with about six drops of lemon juice, not more, please, and not less, in each tumblerful. That's the first part of it. The second is not to become a slave to regularity. Doctor Watson, with whom I have been working and who originated this cure, is very strong on that point. He declares that it is our rigid system of meals at fixed hours which accounts for most of these troubles from which no other animal seems to suffer. For instance, himself he will sometimes breakfast at seven and sometimes at eleven, and dine at any hour of the day or night, with the result that he has a perfect digestion."
"I see," said Arabella, "I dare say there is a great deal in the idea. Tompkins, give me some boiling water and a lemon."
"And bring me some too, Tompkins," said the doctor, "with the whisky."
After this things went very well indeed. Andrew discoursed to Arabella about her ailments and afterwards of other matters, with the result that she was soon in the best of tempers, while the Doctor ate an excellent lunch in peace.
"Magnificent, my boy," he said, "magnificent," when at last she had departed beaming. "Splendid idea, that hot water, and the six drops of lemon were a perfect stroke of genius. Only I foresee that she will want me to take it also—without the whisky. You know," he added, changing his tone, "my daughter is a good girl enough, but she has this crank about her health. To tell you the truth, there was a little disappointment a few years ago. If she could only get married, she would be all right. But when a woman is always talking of her digestion—well, it makes a man think that it might interfere with his."
Chapter VI
The Hospital
Andrew's career as assistant to Dr. Somerville Black in his fashionable and lucrative practice may be summarized in very few words, especially as it was short. He was quite successful in his humble rôle of medical bottle–washer, but the whole business bored him to distraction, because in it, so far as he was concerned, there was absolutely nothing of any importance. Many serious cases came to Dr. Black and received the benefit of his singular gift of diagnosis and shrewd and valuable advice. But he did not deal with them himself; after indicating their nature, almost invariably he passed them on to the real experts in the various branches of medical lore. Still less of course did Andrew deal with them, whose function was simply to hold the stage when the doctor was not there, with any gag that might be convenient, often by calling on and chatting with patients suffering from nothing in particular, when Black had not time to visit them. Very soon, indeed, he came to understand that so far as essentials were concerned and at the bottom he cared for nothing else, he would learn more of his trade in a single month at Whitechapel than he could hope to do in a year in Park Lane, although his pecuniary earnings might be in an inverse ratio.