The Man from Archangel, and Other Tales of AdventureDoyle, Arthur Conan
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The Man from Archangel, and Other Tales of Adventure
Doyle, Arthur Conan
Adventure stories, English; Physicians -- Fiction
"My dear sir, there can be no very pressing hurry in a first case. We
shall have an all-night affair, I fancy. You can't get an engine to go
without coals, Mr. Johnson, and I have had nothing but a light lunch."
"We could have something cooked for you--something hot and a cup of
tea."
"Thank you, but I fancy my dinner is actually on the table. I can do no
good in the earlier stages. Go home and say that I am coming, and I will
be round immediately afterwards."
A sort of horror filled Robert Johnson as he gazed at this man who could
think about his dinner at such a moment. He had not imagination enough
to realise that the experience which seemed so appallingly important to
him, was the merest everyday matter of business to the medical man who
could not have lived for a year had he not, amid the rush of work,
remembered what was due to his own health. To Johnson he seemed little
better than a monster. His thoughts were bitter as he sped back to his
shop.
"You've taken your time," said his mother-in-law reproachfully, looking
down the stairs as he entered.
"I couldn't help it!" he gasped. "Is it over?"
"Over! She's got to be worse, poor dear, before she can be better.
Where's Doctor Miles?"
"He's coming after he's had dinner."
The old woman was about to make some reply, when, from the half-opened
door behind, a high, whinnying voice cried out for her. She ran back and
closed the door, while Johnson, sick at heart, turned into the shop.
There he sent the lad home and busied himself frantically in putting up
shutters and turning out boxes. When all was closed and finished he
seated himself in the parlour behind the shop. But he could not sit
still. He rose incessantly to walk a few paces and then fall back into a
chair once more. Suddenly the clatter of china fell upon his ear, and he
saw the maid pass the door with a cup on a tray and a smoking teapot.
"Who is that for, Jane?" he asked.
"For the mistress, Mr. Johnson. She says she would fancy it."
There was immeasurable consolation to him in that homely cup of tea. It
wasn't so very bad after all if his wife could think of such things. So
lighthearted was he that he asked for a cup also. He had just finished
it when the doctor arrived, with a small black-leather bag in his hand.
"Well, how is she?" he asked genially.
"Oh, she's very much better," said Johnson, with enthusiasm.
"Dear me, that's bad!" said the doctor. "Perhaps it will do if I look in
on my morning round?"
"No, no," cried Johnson, clutching at his thick frieze overcoat. "We are
so glad that you have come. And, doctor, please come down soon and let
me know what you think about it."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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