“Hold your tongue you young ass, and take your physic! She’s a capital
woman, and has done exactly as she ought to have done. No nonsense, I
tell you! Sleep to-night, and then to-morrow you’ll go and set yourself
right with the shop.”
“Sir!” cried the young man, with a gasp. His pulse gave a jump under the
strong cool grip in which Dr. Roland had again taken it, and he fixed a
frightened imploring gaze upon the doctor’s face.
“Oh, doctor!” cried the poor wife, “there’s nothing to set right with
the shop. They think all the world of Alfred there.”
“They’ll think all the more of him,” said Dr. Roland, “after he has had
a good night’s sleep. There, take him off to bed; and at ten o’clock
to-morrow morning I expect to see him here.”
“Oh, doctor, is it anything bad? Oh, sir, can’t you make him all right?”
she cried, standing with clasped hands, listening to the hurried yet
wavering step with which her husband went upstairs.
“I’ll tell you to-morrow morning,” Dr. Roland said.
When the door was closed he went and sat down again by his fire; but the
calm of his mind, the pleasure of his cigar, the excitement of his
newspaper, had gone. Truth to tell, the excitement of this new question
pleased him more than all these things together. “Has he done it, or is
he only going to do it?” he asked himself. Could the thing be set right,
or could it never be set right? He sat there for perhaps an hour,
working out the question in both directions, considering the case in
every light. It was a long time since he had met with anything so
interesting. He only came to himself when he became conscious that the
fire was burning very low, and the chill of the night creeping into the
air. Then Dr. Roland rose again, compounded a drink for himself of a
different quality from that which he had given to his patient, and
selected out of his bookcase a yellow novel. But after a while he
pitched the book from him, and pushed away the glass, and resumed his
meditations. What was grog, and what was Gaboriau, in comparison with a
problem like this?
CHAPTER VI.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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