Part 5

For the rest, Mr Jefferson could make himself exceedingly agreeable when he liked, and as he was good-looking, attentive, gentlemanly, and always well dressed, it was not surprising that he had managed to make an impression on Dora's girlish and inexperienced mind. To tell the truth, Mr Jefferson had come to the conclusion that Dora would be his for the asking, and, therefore, was not going to hurry himself over the matter. She was a charming girl--the most charming girl he had ever met--and he admired her immensely. Possibly he would have been deeply in love with her by this time had she not always received him with a smile of genuine welcome and accepted his invitations to go here and there, and see this and that, with unconcealed delight. After the drudgery of the post-office counter, and the doubtful joys offered by her home circle, Mr Jefferson's society came as a very pleasant relief to Dora. Whenever they went out together he spent his money handsomely and gave her of the best--and Dora was accordingly grateful and quite prepared to whisper a tender affirmative when Harold Jefferson asked her to be his wife.

So stood the matter when Jefferson drove her home--she had begged off from her work early, at his request--this September evening. So stood the matter when Dora entered the drawing-room and was introduced to "Dr Mortimer."

When Harold Jefferson, following Dora at a leisurely pace, heard Jim say that he had met Miss Maybury before, he pricked up his ears. And when, on entering the drawing-room, he saw who the gentleman was that had met Dora before, a vague but distinct feeling of annoyance came over him. He had met Jim in the inimical manner already described, and, as he turned over the pages of the magazine, made up his mind to take an early opportunity to inform Mrs Maybury of the part this new boarder--Jefferson presumed Jim was a new boarder--had lately played before a large and interested audience.

Presently Dora and Frank came downstairs. The former looked prettier than ever in a white dress--with a pearl necklace, a gift Of Mr Jefferson's, round her fair neck, and some other tiny shining ornament in her hair. Frank looked unusually clean and dapper in his best suit, Dora having tied a neat bow for him and generally supervised his toilet.

Dora seated herself on the arm of her father's chair, and stroked the thin hair on his head in the caressing way both pretty and plain daughters are often pleased to exhibit. Once only Dora stole a shy and somewhat apprehensive glance at Jim. She had recognised Jim's voice directly he spoke to Mr Jefferson at the Exhibition, and had turned her face away, as she did not desire Jim, on the strength of his introduction to her earlier in the day, to address her whilst he was in such a quarrelsome mood.

And now--here he was--this Mr (or Dr) Mortimer--under her own father's roof; and here, too, was Mr Jefferson, who had already expressed his feelings with regard to this Mr (or Dr) Mortimer. Under the peculiar circumstances, Dora had no desire to enter into conversation with Jim, and so took shelter--as girls so often, and so wisely, do--under the paternal wing.

Frank, however, had no reason to avoid Mr Mortimer. He rather admired him for the easy way he had picked up his portmanteau and shouldered it upstairs. A real boy admires a strong man, and Frank was a real boy enough--suffering, at present, from being too much at home--for his summer holidays were only just over. So he seated himself by Jim.

"I say, Dr Mortimer," he said at length, "would you mind telling me how tall you are?"

Jim was genially glad of somebody to talk to.

"Six foot four," he replied.

"I _say_! Do you like being so tall?"

"Don't mind it," said Jim; "knock my head rather too often, perhaps."

Frank laughed. "There's a master at my school almost as tall as you," he proceeded, "but much broader."

"Indeed!" said Jim, who frequently had to listen to comparisons of this sort.

"Well," continued Frank, surveying Jim with a critical eye, "I don't know whether he's _much_ broader. You are _rather_ broad, aren't you? But he's much fatter. They say he weighs eighteen stone. What do _you_ weigh?"

"Frank," said Mrs Maybury, "don't ask such personal questions, dear."

Dora smiled. She was listening in a not uninterested way to her brother's ingenuous remarks.

"Oh, I don't mind, Mrs Maybury," said Jim; "I go just over thirteen stone," he added, addressing Frank.

The boy looked thoughtful. Presently he said: "Can you fight well, Dr Mortimer?"

He asked the question in all innocence, for Dora had not breathed a word about Jim's performance at the Exhibition.

"I don't like fighting," replied Jim; "I am afraid of my nose bleeding."

Frank gazed at him with suspicion. Then, as Jim's face remained quite grave, Frank's grew scornful. Afraid of his nose bleeding! That was a nice thing for a man of six feet four to say!

To what extent Frank might have continued his interrogations we can only vaguely surmise, but at this point Miss Bird--who had been much irritated by Frank's inquisitive treble tones--dashed into the breach.

"And what, Mr Cleave," she asked, "are the cases in your 'Pillory' this week? Anything of an exceptional nature?"

Mr Cleave came to life with a convulsive start. He had been absorbed in a series of reports supplied by the _Abstainer's_ special commissioner from the London police-courts.

"Pardon?" he asked. "Didn't catch----"

Miss Bird snapped her teeth, which came together much as a man-trap would close on an unfortunate poacher's leg.

"'Pillory!' What's the worst case?" she bawled.

"Oh! The cases in 'Our Pillory'?" bleated Mr Cleave.

"Yes! Read 'em out!" Miss Bird returned in a saw-like, rasping growl.

Mr Cleave turned over the pages of _The Total Abstainer_ with evident relish.

"The worst," he said, in a high, thin voice, "is one that our commissioner only heard by unexpected good fortune. He does not often go westwards. He finds that Bow Street and Whitechapel bring more grist----"

"Read it out!" shouted Miss Bird.

"A piteous example of what over-indulgence in alcohol may bring a man to (read Mr Cleave) was afforded by a case which came before our notice one day last week in the Kensington Police Court. The degraded being, who faced the magistrate with an unabashed gaze, was a young doctor named Mortimer, who gave as his address a place of mercy and healing--the Hospital of St Matthew."

"By George!" exclaimed Jim, "that's how our local rag got hold of it! Copied it out of your paper."

"Pardon?" observed Mr Cleave.

"Go on!" roared Miss Bird.

"The facts were few but terrible (continued Mr Cleave). This member of a noble calling, inflamed and rendered reckless of all consequences by the Bend aforesaid, actually made a ferocious onslaught on a band of six policemen. In a fair pleasure garden he let loose his unruly passions, and only after a terrific struggle was he captured, handcuffed, and thrust into a cell----"

"They locked you up, then?" inquired Jefferson, glancing maliciously at Jim.

"Not they," said Jim; "I was let out on bail."

Miss Bird turned sharply round and glared into Jim's face.

"Are _you_ the person referred to in that report?" she demanded.

"I am," said Jim.

A silence fell on the room. Even the dim-of-hearing Mr Cleave appreciated the situation, and understood that the lately arrived Dr Mortimer was identical with the prime villain of the "Pillory" that week.

"Pray continue, Mr Cleave," said Jefferson at length, with a curl of his lip; "I am sure Dr Mortimer does not mind."

Mr Cleave was bending over the paper again, when an interruption came from an unthought-of quarter. Mr Maybury rose to his feet.

"I do not think," he said, "that Mr Cleave had better proceed with his reading."

"Nonsense!" said Jefferson. "Go ahead, Mr Cleave."

"For the sake of the Cause, Mr Maybury," piped Cleave, "I wish to----"

"I am master of this house," said the ruined manufacturer, who, generally so mild and retiring, now spoke with unfaltering firmness, "and I say that no man shall be insulted to his face under my roof. You will oblige me, Mr Cleave, by not reading another word of that report. Frank, go and see if dinner is ready."

*CHAPTER X.*

*AT THE SURGERY.*

Jim set out for the surgery next morning feeling somewhat depressed. His sins were coming home to him. The attitude adopted towards him generally by No. 9 was a hostile one. After the sad disclosures on the previous evening, Miss Bird and Mr Cleave had, metaphorically, turned their backs on him; Mrs Maybury was coldly polite; Miss H. R. Maybury (a thin, angular young lady) barely recognised his presence; and, on the whole, Jim would have spent a most chilly evening had not Mr Maybury invited him to play chess.

"Seems to me," said Jim, as he left Derby Crescent, "I'm not in good odour there. Shall I leave or shall I live it down? I should like to leave, but--_hullo_!"

This exclamation was caused by the hitherto unnoticed presence of Tom, the great black cat, who had quietly followed Jim out of the Crescent into the main road, and seemed bent on accompanying the young doctor to his destination. Jim endeavoured to make the cat go back, but Tom persisted in accompanying him, and so at length the two reached Mount Street, where Dr Taplow's surgery was situated.

On the pavement by the surgery door a group of meanly clad people were already waiting for "the Doctor." The women--they were all women or children--gazed with interest on the Long 'Un. He was a man most people looked at twice, and to these poor souls he was of peculiar interest, for he was to minister to their ills. And who--in times of sickness--is of greater interest to one than the man who possesses the skill to make one well again?

"Waiting to see me?" said Jim, cheerily, "All right--you may come in in a moment."

Scouring the passage that lay on the other side of the door was a hag of forbidding appearance.

"I am Mr Mortimer," said Jim, in reply to her stare of inquiry. "I have come to take charge of the practice."

Passing by her, he opened a door on the right and entered the waiting-room--a bare apartment furnished with a few chairs and a table, on which latter lay a scanty collection of well-thumbed periodicals. Opening out of this was the surgery, which had not been entered, save by the hag aforesaid, since Dr Morgan had come by his untimely end.

On the desk lay the open ledger-with its quaint Latin entries--exactly as poor old Morgan had left it. On the shelves were the usual ranks of bottles containing acids, poisons, and other drugs; and here and there on the counter under the shelves stood various dose-glasses, phials, a stethoscope, and a pair of forceps, in whose grim clutch a rotten double tooth that had been wrenched from some unfortunate aching jaw still remained. The place was dirty and untidy, and altogether the sight that met Jim's eyes was most dispiriting. This was, indeed, a humble surgery in a humble district!

Still, Jim did not lose heart. He was fresh from one of the first hospitals in London--in spite of the sudden change in his fortunes he was full of enthusiasm, and eager to apply his knowledge.

The patients filed in, and Jim saw each in turn. They were all suffering from common ailments, and the Long 'Un--after his varied experience among the out-patients at Matt's, where he had sometimes doctored a hundred persons in one morning--made short work of them.

One little girl had a rash on her chest and back. Jim readily diagnosed the complaint as chicken-pox.

"Take her home and keep her in bed for a week, mum!" said he, to the girl's mother; "keep her warm, mind. If she gets a chill, it will drive the spots in, and the child may be very ill then. Keep her warm. Medicine? No, she doesn't want medicine. Just keep her warm--and away from the other children. All live in one room? Well, they'll all have it--if they've not had it before. Just as well. Sixpence, please!"

A young seamstress had no appetite and felt too weak to work. No, she wasn't married--she helped her mother. Take anything to drink? Only tea. How often? Oh, the pot was on the hob all day. They just helped themselves when they wanted it.

"The matter with you, mum," said Jim, "is _tea_! You're poisoning yourself. So comforting? Yes, but it's poison. No more tea, mum! Medicine? Yes. I'll make you up a nice tonic. And go out for a walk every evening--don't tire yourself, though!"

But it wasn't all sixpenny and shilling counter-trade. Later in the day--when it had been noised about that a new doctor had come to take charge of the practice--various messages--some verbal, some scribbled on notepaper--arrived. Would the doctor come to see Mrs Smith, who was suffering from heart complaint; and Mrs Jones, who had nothing at all the matter with her, but always thought she had? So Jim sallied forth and paid calls on the wives of fishmongers and ironmongers, and greengrocers, and publicans--nearly all his patients were women--ascended rickety staircases, dived into evil-smelling bedrooms, and went hither and thither and about and around on his useful errands of healing and comfort.

Over the way, just opposite, was a provision shop and eating-house, bearing the name of "Harris & Son."

From the portals of this establishment, about two o'clock in the afternoon, issued a weary little old man of Jewish appearance, who, after glancing up and down Mount Street, crossed over to the surgery.

He found Jim doing up some medicine.

"How d'ye do, doctor?" said he.

"How are you, sir?"

"Queer, doctor. Thought I'd come and ask your advice."

"Go ahead," said Jim, jabbing a stick of sealing-wax into the gas-jet.

"I've a funny feeling all over my 'ead--not in the 'ead, but all over it. I've been a good deal worried of late, doctor."

"Sort of feeling as if your hair was being brushed?" inquired Jim.

"That's it. Not so nice, though."

"I know it," said Jim; "I've had it myself when I've been stewing hard for an exam." (He hadn't really, but "having had it himself" was a medical formula that he deemed it well to abide by--it comforted patients.)

"Vell, I never! Vot is it, doctor?"

"Irritation of the subcutaneous nerves," said Jim, wisely.

"Ah!" said the weary little old man, "sounds bad!"

"Oh no--it'll soon go off. I'll make you up a tonic with a touch of bromide in it. That'll soothe you."

"_Bromide_! Vy, ain't that the vicked stuff society ladies take?"

"Some of them. But they take it neat--yours will be diluted."

Jim made up a bottle of "the mixture," and the old man laid down his shilling.

"I feel better already, sir," he said; "'ope you'll come over to our place and get a bit to eat when you vant it. I'm from over the road--Harris."

"Right!" said Jim, "I won't forget. Good-day, Mr Harris."

And in this way an adventure befell Jim, for, feeling hungry about an hour later, he went over to the emporium of Harris & Son. Blocking up the doorway he found a burly ruffian with close-cropped hair and a scarf round his neck.

"Now, my man!" said Jim, wishing to pass by.

The gentleman addressed turned on him with an oath.

"Oo are you 'my manning,' young lamp-post? _You_ get out of _my_ way--d'ye 'ear?"

Now Jim conjectured--and rightly--that the ruffian in question was of the Hooligan order, or belonged to a class of society near akin to that order. So, being aware that he had to hold his own in this district, and that it would never do to be intimidated, and bearing in mind that in situations of this kind it was a good plan to hit first and hit hard, he let drive between the fellow's eyes and knocked him clean off his feet.

This done, he stepped over him and proceeded to the counter to order some food.

As the rascal dropped, a pale slip of a girl, who was holding a baby, started up from the table at which she was sitting and rushed towards the prostrate figure.

The man Jim had felled struggled to his feet with a flood of imprecations pouring from his lips. The blow had dazed him, and for a few moments he glared about him in an uncertain way. Then, as his senses cleared, he perceived Jim, and gave a hoarse cry, fumbling the while at the heavily buckled belt which he wore round his waist.

"Oh, Jack--don't!" cried the girl, interposing her slender form between the man and the object of his meditated vengeance. As she did so, Jim noticed that one of her eyes was discoloured; it was not hard to guess who had caused the injury.

"Get over the counter!" cried Mr Harris; "you'll be safer 'ere."

"Not I," said Jim; "I can look after myself."

"'E's a terror," said the old man, in a hasty undertone; "e's a Hooligan--the worst of 'em--their boss."

"I don't care," said Jim; "I can tackle him."

At length the Hooligan managed to unclasp his belt, but even as he did so two policemen entered the shop.

"Now then--get out of this--quick!"

They knew him--evidently. They were two to his one. And there was Mortimer near at hand to help if required.

The Hooligan was not without some regard for his personal well-being. Directing a scowl of hate at Jim, he put on his belt again and left the shop, followed by the girl.

"Same old game?" said one of the constables to Mr Harris.

"I didn't see it all--but I believe this gentleman knocked 'im down," replied Mr Harris. "'E's the noo doctor over the road."

The policeman eyed Jim with interest.

"I'd advise you to be careful, sir," he said; "that's the most dangerous man in these parts. He's just done six months, and only came out three days ago. We've been keeping an eye on him."

"I'll look out--never fear," said Jim.

For some hours after that Jim was very busy, but even in the midst of his work he seemed to see the white, pleading face of the Hooligan's girl-wife. No doubt she loved the brute--no doubt she had been endeavouring to keep him in a good temper ever since he had come out of prison. And the man, smarting from his recent confinement, sulky, and conscious of his bull-like strength, had probably been thirsting for a quarrel all these three days.

Then Jim's sharp speech fell on his ear, and the Hooligan wasn't accustomed to being spoken to sharply by anybody save a policeman. He had wheeled round fiercely, and had hardly had time to take stock of the person addressing him before he was floored. He had never received such quick treatment before in his life.

"Still," thought Jim, "I wouldn't have hit him had I known his wife was there. At any rate, I'd have let him hit me first."

Jim got some tea at a shop in Blackfriars Road, and was fully employed making up medicine at the surgery until it was dusk, and the street lamps were shining yellow. Then he bethought him of Derby Crescent and dinner.

He was tidying up the surgery preparatory to taking his leave of the place for the day, when there came a short, peremptory knock on the street door, which he had previously closed. Jim heard a murmur of voices without. A woman, it seemed, was remonstrating with a man.

Jim went to the door and opened it. There, awaiting him, was the Hooligan; a little farther off stood the latter's slip of a wife.

"Well?" said Jim, curtly.

Even as he spoke the girl gave the alarm: "Look out, sir--he's got his belt off!" But the Hooligan was too quick, and the heavy buckle of the belt came crash on to Jim's head, just above the brow, ere the woman's warning was finished.

It was a frightful blow, and extracted a cry of pain from Jim. One cry, and then Jim sprang forward, dodged the belt swinging at his head again, and closed with the Hooligan. The two forms fell with a crash--Jim on top. In a second he was kneeling on the ruffian, his hands upon the other's throat.

"Oh, sir--oh, sir!--don't give him in charge! Oh, sir--he shan't do it again!--please don't give him in charge!"

It was a piteous appeal, and Jim, hearing, rose to his feet.

"All right--take him away!"

Jim's head was swimming, and the blood was trickling over his face.

He staggered back into the passage, feeling that his senses were leaving him. Supporting himself by the wall, he passed through the waiting-room, gained the surgery proper, and was clutching at the counter when a figure appeared in the doorway.

It was the Hooligan--with an uglier look than ever in his eyes.

Jim saw the brutal face and the uplifted belt. The man was going to hit him again. The belt rose--but of a sudden help arrived from an unexpected quarter, for at that moment a little, quick-moving man entered the surgery, and, noting the position of affairs, seized the Hooligan's wrists, and brought the ruffian to the floor with a neat trip.

"I got your card, and came along as soon as I could," said Koko. "By the way, who's your friend?"

"Oh, he was only getting even with me," said Jim. "I hit him earlier in the day."

The Hooligan's wife was endeavouring to make her husband leave the waiting-room, but he seemed anxious to renew the combat.

Her expostulations ceased abruptly, however--as did the man's maledictions--and a new voice fell upon the hearing of the two friends.

"Now, my good people, do you want anything here? If you will wait a few moments you shall be attended to."

Then Jim and Koko saw the doorway of the surgery proper filled by a portly form.

"You are Mr Mortimer, I believe?" said the new arrival. "I am Dr Taplow. I am greatly obliged to my friend Sir Savile for obtaining your services for me, and must thank you for acting as my _locum tenens_ to-day. I am accompanied, however, by the gentleman I myself have appointed to take charge of the practice, and so I shall not require you after to-day."

Jim bowed. "Very good, sir," he replied.

"By the way--are you hurt?" inquired Dr Taplow.

"It's only a scratch," said Jim, reaching down his hat.

"Indeed! I was afraid it was something worse ... er--if you will let me know what I owe you, I will send you a cheque ... er ... come in, Dr Perkins, come in ... er--_good_ evening, Mr Mortimer!"

*CHAPTER XI.*

*MR MAYBURY'S RESOLVE.*

Mr Maybury received a long and severe curtain lecture from his wife on the night of Jim's arrival at No. 9, the subject of it being Jim Mortimer and Jim Mortimer's delinquencies.

"After the disgraceful revelations of this evening," said the good dame, as, having blown out the candle, her lord composed himself for slumber, "we can't allow him to stay with us. It would give the house a bad name. People would tattle and gossip until we should be obliged to move. Imagine! Drunk and disorderly! fought the policemen! had to be bound with ropes and taken in an ambulance to a police-station----"

"I hardly think it was quite so bad as that," Mr Maybury interrupted in a mild, sleepy voice.

"The fact remains," continued Mrs Maybury, with energy, "that he was taken to a police-station, was fined, was reprimanded by the magistrate. A nice sort of man to have in one's house contaminating the children! Frank has taken a fancy to him already; the next thing will be _Frank_ fighting policemen----"

"Don't talk such nonsense, my dear," said Mr Maybury. "Medical students," he added, "often get into trouble. Nobody cares much if they do; they are regarded as privileged madcaps. Dr Mortimer is a very young man--still a student at heart. I must say I like what I've seen of him very much, and am not surprised at Frank's taking a fancy to him."

"Do you want your son to be sent to a reformatory, as Miss Bird suggested?" inquired Mrs May bury.

"He won't be," her spouse assured her; "Frank has no vices; he's only mischievous."

"If he imitates Dr Mortimer," cried Mrs Maybury, "there's no knowing what the boy won't come to. No, William, you must tell Dr Mortimer that he must find fresh lodgings. He can't stay here. Miss Bird and Mr Cleave will both leave if he does. Mr Cleave told me to-night that he cannot breathe the same air as such a man."