Eugene Aram — CompleteLytton, Edward Bulwer Lytton, Baron
General
Eugene Aram — Complete
Lytton, Edward Bulwer Lytton, Baron
Aram, Eugene, 1704-1759 -- Fiction
“Pooh!--medical men are never strangers. I am the friend of every man
who requires my assistance.”
“Augh!--and I do require your honour’s assistance very sadly.”
“Well--well--speak out. Any thing of long standing?”
“Why, only since we have been here, Sir.”
“Oh, that’s all! Well.”
“Your honour’s so good--that--won’t scruple in telling you all. You
sees as how we were robbed--master at least was--had some little in my
pockets--but we poor servants are never too rich. You seems such a
kind gentleman--so attentive to master--though you must have felt how
disinterested it was to ‘tend a man what had been robbed--that I have no
hesitation in making bold to ask you to lend us a few guineas, just to
help us out with the bill here,--bother!”
“Fellow!” said the Doctor, rising, “I don’t know what you mean; but
I’d have you to learn that I am not to be cheated out of my time and
property. I shall insist upon being paid my bill instantly, before I
dress your master’s wound once more.”
“Augh!” said the Corporal, who was delighted to find the Doctor come
so immediately into the snare;--“won’t be so cruel surely,--why, you’ll
leave us without a shiner to pay my host here.”
“Nonsense!--Your master, if he’s a gentleman, can write home for money.”
“Ah, Sir, all very well to say so;--but, between you and me and the
bed-post--young master’s quarrelled with old master--old master won’t
give him a rap,--so I’m sure, since your honour’s a friend to every man
who requires your assistance--noble saying, Sir!--you won’t refuse us
a few guineas;--and as for your bill--why--” “Sir, you’re an impudent
vagabond!” cried the Doctor, as red as a rose-draught, and flinging out
of the room; “and I warn you, that I shall bring in my bill, and expect
to be paid within ten minutes.”
The Doctor waited for no answer--he hurried home, scratched off his
account, and flew back with it in as much haste as if his patient had
been a month longer under his care, and was consequently on the brink
of that happier world, where, since the inhabitants are immortal, it is
very evident that doctors, as being useless, are never admitted.
The Corporal met him as before.
“There, Sir,” cried the Doctor, breathlessly, and then putting his arms
akimbo, “take that to your master, and desire him to pay me instantly.”
“Augh! and shall do no such thing.”
“You won’t?”
“No, for shall pay you myself. Where’s your wee stamp--eh?”
And with great composure the Corporal drew out a well-filled purse, and
discharged the bill. The Doctor was so thunderstricken, that he pocketed
the money without uttering a word. He consoled himself, however, with
the belief that Walter, whom he had tamed into a becoming hypochondria,
would be sure to send for him the next morning. Alas, for mortal
expectations!--the next morning Walter was once more on the road.
CHAPTER II.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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