The Confessions of Harry Lorrequer — Volume 2Lever, Charles
General
The Confessions of Harry Lorrequer — Volume 2
Lever, Charles
Fiction
seldom is the adage true which says "that second thoughts are best," was
upon my luckless wager; for, even supposing that Fitzgerald should follow
me in the other chaise, yet as I had the start of him, if I could only
pass muster for half an hour, I might secure the fee, and evacuate the
territory; besides that there was a great chance of Fitz's having gone on
my errand, while I was journeying on his, in which case I should be safe
from interruption. Meanwhile, heaven only could tell, what his
interference in poor Curzon's business might not involve. These serious
reflections took about ten seconds to pass through my mind, as the
grave-looking old servant proceeded to encumber himself with my cloak
and my pistol-case, remarking as he lifted the latter, "And may the Lord
grant ye won't want the instruments this time, doctor, for they say he
is better this morning;" heartily wishing amen to the benevolent prayer
of the honest domestic, for more reasons than one, I descended
leisurely, as I conjectured a doctor ought to do, from the chaise, and
with a solemn pace and grave demeanour followed him into the house.
In the small parlour to which I was ushered, sat two gentlemen somewhat
advanced in years, who I rightly supposed were my medical confreres. One
of these was a tall, pale, ascetic-looking man, with grey hairs, and
retreating forehead, slow in speech, and lugubrious in demeanour. The
other, his antithesis, was a short, rosy-cheeked, apoplectic-looking
subject, with a laugh like a suffocating wheeze, and a paunch like an
alderman; his quick, restless eye, and full nether lip denoting more of
the bon vivant than the abstemious disciple of Aesculapius. A moment's
glance satisfied me, that if I had only these to deal with, I was safe,
for I saw that they were of that stamp of country practitioner,
half-physician, half-apothecary, who rarely come in contact with the
higher orders of their art, and then only to be dictated to, obey, and
grumble.
"Doctor, may I beg to intrude myself, Mr. Phipps, on your notice? Dr.
Phipps or Mr. It's all one; but I have only a license in pharmacy, though
they call me doctor."
"Surgeon Riley, sir; a very respectable practitioner," said he, waving
his hand towards his rubicund confrere.
I at once expressed the great happiness it afforded me to meet such
highly informed and justly celebrated gentlemen; and fearing every moment
the arrival of the real Simon Pure should cover me with shame and
disgrace, begged they would afford me as soon as possible, some history
of the case we were concerned for. They accordingly proceeded to expound
in a species of duet, some curious particulars of an old gentleman who
had the evil fortune to have them for his doctors, and who laboured under
some swelling of the neck, which they differed as to the treatment of,
and in consequence of which, the aid of a third party (myself, God bless
the mark!) was requested.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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