England -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction; Rogues and vagabonds -- Fiction
How long I stayed is more than I can tell. Lunch came up. I eat and
drank, and grew more amusing than ever. When I at last rose to go, the
brown eyes looked on me very kindly, and the doctor gave me his card.
“If you don’t mind trusting yourself in the clutches of Doctor Faustus,”
he said, with a gay smile, “I shall be delighted to see you if you are
ever in the neighborhood of Barkingham.”
I wrung his hand, mentally relinquishing my secretaryship while I
thanked him for the invitation. I put out my hand next to his daughter,
and the dear friendly girl met the advance with the most charming
readiness. She gave me a good, hearty, vigorous, uncompromising shake.
O precious right hand! never did I properly appreciate your value until
that moment.
Going out with my head in the air, and my senses in the seventh heaven,
I jostled an elderly gentleman passing before the garden gate. I turned
round to apologize; it was my brother in office, the estimable Treasurer
of the Duskydale Institute.
“I have been half over the town looking after you,” he said. “The
Managing Committee, on reflection, consider your plan of personally
soliciting public attendance at the hall to be compromising the dignity
of the Institution, and beg you, therefore, to abandon it.”
“Very well,” said I, “there is no harm done. Thus far, I have only
solicited two persons, Doctor and Miss Dulcifer, in that delightful
little cottage there.”
“You don’t mean to say you have asked _them_ to come to the ball!”
“To be sure I have. And I am sorry to say they can’t accept the
invitation. Why should they not be asked?”
“Because nobody visits them.”
“And why should nobody visit them?”
The Treasurer put his arm confidentially through mine, and walked me on
a few steps.
“In the first place,” he said, “Doctor Dulcifer’s name is not down in
the Medical List.”
“Some mistake,” I suggested, in my off-hand way. “Or some foreign
doctor’s degree not recognized by the prejudiced people in England.”
“In the second place,” continued the Treasurer, “we have found out that
he is not visited at Barkingham. Consequently, it would be the height of
imprudence to visit him here.”
“Pooh! pooh! All the nonsense of narrow-minded people, because he lives
a retired life, and is engaged in finding out chemical secrets which the
ignorant public don’t know how to appreciate.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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