Part 9

"I always talk to these people, so, as I was passing into the house, I said: 'Who guessed it?' They turned to me and began talking all at once, and I gathered from their observations that the fat woman's little girl was down with what our bearded friend at Taplow's had diagnosed as small-pox. It appeared that he had made a report to the Medical Officer of Health for this district, and that the hospital people's ambulance was momentarily expected. The fat woman vehemently declared that our bearded friend was wrong. 'What makes you think it isn't small-pox?' I said. 'Why, doctor,' says she, 'my Annie ain't been sick, eats 'earty, and sleeps sound, and is well in 'erself. 'E only went by the spots.' 'Well,' I said, 'they'll tell you at the hospital whether it's small-pox or not.' But at that she began painting the air blue with her language, and swore no ambulance men should touch the kid. After a time she asked me to look at the child, but I explained that it was Dr Taplow's case, and nothing to do with me. She then asked whether a lady couldn't take two doctors' opinions on a case, and I replied that a lady certainly could. 'Well, then,' says she, 'why shouldn't a pore woman like me?' I recognised the justice of this, and, after I'd been to my case, I took a look at the child. I saw at once it wasn't small-pox----"

"The chicken variety?" put in Koko.

"Not even that--simply blood out of order. I told her the child wanted some medicine and more fresh air. As luck had it, the Medical Officer--old Jackson--awfully nice chap--being scared by the report, came with the ambulance himself, and corroborated my verdict. I had cleared off by then, but the next time I went to Pine Court I found myself famous, and ever since they've been coming to me instead of to the bearded pard."

"Good," said Koko. "Have you caught him napping again?"

"Curiously enough, I have. He told a woman in Mount Street that her husband--a plumber--was suffering from heart disease. His feet were swollen, and he was pretty bad all over. However, she wasn't satisfied, and came to me, and I found the fellow really had a congested liver. I dosed him with calomel, and he was running up and down ladders again in a few days."

"That was another ad.," said Koko.

"It was," said Jim. "Have another two-penn'orth?"

Koko nodded, and Jim was reaching for the mislabled bottle, when a quaint metal Chinaman, that stood in the middle of the mantelpiece, fell with a crash on to his face.

"Hullo!" cried Koko, much mystified, for neither he nor Jim had touched the ornament.

Jim laughed. "That's all right--shows there's somebody at the front door. You see there's a bell, but my callers don't always use it. Some of them like to walk in, as the door opens when you turn the handle. I've fixed up an arrangement of string, therefore, which causes that old geezer to fall down when the front door is opened. Quite simple. I'll show you the dodge in a minute."

Whilst he had been speaking, Jim had popped the prussic acid jar on its shelf, and opened the door communicating with the waiting-room.

"Ah, Mr Harris! Good evening! Come in!"

The old provision dealer--for it was he--walked into the surgery. Koko made as if he would withdraw, but Jim motioned to him to stop.

"I'm pretty near done, doctor," said Mr Harris, sinking wearily into a chair; "my 'ead feels as if my 'air was bein' brushed more than ever. And that velp--'e's gettin' more a caution every day. 'E tumbled to my game, and marked the wrong 'orses for me to back--and my money's all gone. Yes, vot vith 'im and my 'ealth, I vish I vos dead."

"You don't get enough fresh air, Mr Harris," said Jim.

"Fresh air!" cried the old man; "no, not a mouthful. Not likely. That boy--that son of mine--Isaac--'e's a 'eartless young 'ound. Keeps 'is old father vorkin' and vorkin' from seven in the mornin' till ten at night. Fresh air! Vy, I falls asleep in my chair ven I've locked up the shop!"

Koko and Jim looked sympathetic, but made no comment.

"Now 'e's boss," proceeded the old dealer--"now 'e's '_Arris_, and I'm only the _Father_, there's no end to the airs he gives 'isself. Wears a red veskit and a big chain and a norty turn-down collar like vot the swells vear, and a check soot vich 'e got second-'and from a bookmaker. There's no 'oldin' 'im!" declared Mr Harris, with a groan.

He paused a moment to wag his head sorrowfully, and then again took up the tale of his woes.

"So vot vith Isaac, and vot vith this 'air brushin' a-always goin' on on the top of me 'ead, I feel pretty near like throwin' myself inter the river and settlin' it all that vay. Not that Isaac vould care--not 'e! 'E'd bury me as cheap as possible, and think it 'ard lines I vosn't voshed out to sea instead of bein' brought 'ome to cause 'im expense!"

"Well, well," said Jim, soothingly, "I'll give you some medicine that'll make you feel very much better, Mr Harris. You're run down, and that's why you feel so despondent."

"The real reason vy," continued Mr Harris, as Jim got up to prepare the medicine, "I don't do avay vith myself _is_, I vant to stay by Isaac's side and go on varnin' 'im agen Rebecca Nathan. She's a designin' minx--she's just leadin' Isaac on to get vot she can out of 'im."

"What--has your son got a young woman?"

"_Young_ voman! Vy, she's older than Isaac by ten years, and Isaac's twenty-four. 'E's infatooated, is Isaac. 'E leans 'er photograrf agen the corfee pot an' sighs venever 'e looks at it, and 'e puts it just vare 'e'll see it ven 'e vakes in the mornin'. 'E bought her a flash diamond brooch, but she noo better than to be took in that vay, so 'e 'ad to buy 'er a real one. She's the sharpest bit of female-goods in Mount Street--father keeps the fried-fish shop by the 'Lord Nelson.'"

"I know the place," said Jim.

"'Eaps o' money," continued Mr Harris, "but do you think my son Isaac vill ever get even a _sniff_ at it? Not 'e! Rebecca Nathan vill marry a gentleman, doctor dear--she's only _usin_' Isaac!"

"Here's the medicine, Mr Harris. Take a wine-glassful after each meal."

"Vell, I don't believe any medicine in the vorld vill do me any good," said Mr Harris, "but I'll take it, so it von't be vasted. Yes, I'll be gettin' back now. That velp Isaac, 'e's goin' to take Rebecca to a music-'all--yes, in the two-bob seats. 'E never spent more than sixpence on a seat in 'is life before. Larst veek 'e took 'er to 'ave 'er 'ead told by a phrenologist feller, and then 'e 'ad 'is own told, and came 'ome with it all swelled up because the phrenologist said 'e 'ad a big bump of locality and noo 'is vay about."

At that moment the surgery bell rang, and directly after the little Chinaman fell bang on to his nose.

Jim opened the door of communication.

"It is your son," he informed Mr Harris. "Come in," he added, addressing the caller.

The senior partner of the firm of Harris & Father strutted into the surgery. For Mount Street, his attire was resplendent, though, to be sure, the suit he had bought from the bookmaker seemed a couple of sizes too large for him.

"Fader," he said, irritably, "'ow much longer am I to vait?"

"I'm comin', Isaac, I'm comin'," replied the old Jew, putting on his hat and seizing his medicine with trembling hands; "I vos only takin' a little advice for my 'ealth, Isaac."

"You vos takin' all the evenin' to take it," snapped Isaac; "come on--quick!"

The old man nodded hurriedly to Jim and Koko, and left the surgery.

The young Jew turned to Jim.

"See 'ere," he said. "Ven my fader comes 'ere, send him 'ome sharp. That's 'is place--'ome."

"Your father is not at all well," said Jim, "so when he comes here I shall allow him to stay as long as he likes, if that is any comfort to him."

"You've a nice sauce," said Master Harris, who felt very brave in his loud toggery.

For reply, Jim inserted one finger inside Master Harris's collar, conducted him (held thuswise) to the front door, and shot him into the street. And when Jim discovered that Miss Rebecca Nathan was waiting outside for Master Harris, and thus witnessed the latter's discomfiture, he laughed a great laugh, and walked back to the surgery little thinking that his short way with Isaac Harris was destined to bring dire ill upon himself.

*CHAPTER XIX.*

*HARD PRESSED.*

On the day preceding the departure of the students from Matt's for the brief Christmas vacation, things were very lively indeed at the hospital.

Soon after breakfast, Tom Deadwood, one of the most dissipated characters connected with the institution and Teddy Mildmay, his faithful henchman and boon companion--celebrated for his speed of foot, being, in fact, an old Cambridge "blue"--walked into the house-surgeon's room looking bleared and dishevelled. Their story was that they had careered about London in a four-wheel cab (and occasionally on the top of it), with frequent stops for refreshment, until the small hours of the morning, and finally found themselves in the vicinity of Covent Garden market. Here Tom, who was a "bruiser" of parts, tackled a gigantic porter, and after (according to his own account) "slaying" this worthy, fought two other men, Mildmay contenting himself with inspiring his friend with bits of ring wisdom, and at the conclusion of each combat demanding cheers for the reigning monarch.

Eventually a policeman hove in sight in one direction, and three others in three other directions, and then there ensued a chase of a most varied and engrossing description, the market porters, who took a sporting interest in the matter, giving the fugitives many tips as to the best way to run in order to avoid capture. Mildmay, had he been by himself, could have escaped easily, so fleet of foot was he, but Tom Deadwood was blown by his series of scraps with the porters, so in the end they were captured and afforded a night's lodging at Bow Street police-station. At breakfast-time they were allowed to depart, Mr Deadwood having told the superintendent that his mother, who had not seen him for five years, was expecting him home early in the afternoon. The superintendent grimly gave it as his opinion that the colour of her boy's eyes and the state of his nose would give the poor lady a bit of a shock. Having told their story to the Matt's staff, they cleaned themselves and sallied forth in search of breakfast. After this they settled themselves down to a long morning's beer and billiards. Returning to the hospital about one o'clock, they found the red-haired student, who has already figured in this story, marshalling a number of his fellows preparatory to leading them out for a slight midday snack.

Having lined them up in single file--Messrs Deadwood and Mildmay taking their places at the end of the line,--the Welshman placed himself at the right hand of No. 1, and gave the word to "Quick--March!"

In perfect order and comic solemnity the students tramped out of the hospital precincts, wheeled into the road, and proceeded along the extreme outside of the pavement until they arrived at an A B C shop. Obeying the word of command on the instant, and still preserving splendid order, they wheeled into the establishment--their captain holding the door open for them--and took their seats at a group of tables.

The red-haired one approached a waitress.

"Sixteen scones, sixteen butters, and sixteen cups of coffee!"

The giggling girl having provided these refreshments, the students fell to, and very soon the order was repeated. The Welshman then collected eleven-pence from each man and paid the score, the extra penny a head being levied as a douceur for the waitress. The students having re-formed in line, the red-haired leader marched them back to Matt's in the circumspect manner that had characterised their outward journey.

At tea-time came another march out and home, and at seven the Welshman conducted his warriors to a restaurant, where, bearing in mind the fragile nature of the two previous meals, he ordered sixteen steaks, sixteen helps of two "veges," sixteen hunks of bread, sixteen tankards of bitter ale, sixteen portions of currant pudding, sixteen slices of cheese, sixteen pats of butter, and sixteen cups of coffee.

When they had consumed this homely but satisfying meal, the Welshman again collected the amount necessary to discharge the bill, with twopence extra per diner for the waiter. Then he once more marched his men back to Matt's, there to deliberate on further proceedings.

"Pity the Long 'Un isn't here," observed Mr Deadwood, in the midst of the discussion; "he was a fellow of great resource and suggestion. Where's he got to?"

"Jim," said the red-haired one, "is earning money for a man named Taplow, once of this hospital. That is the latest news of him, received in September last."

"I thank you," said Mr Deadwood, with as much dignity as his discoloured eyes and swollen nose rendered possible; "your reply, friend of the Orange Locks, is direct and lucid, but conveys little information. Speak further, Red Scalp, and put us on his trail!"

Mr Deadwood was addicted to the use of highly ornate language. He insulted everybody in terms that were clothed with plumage of a peculiarly offensive nature.

"Jim's new pitch is in Mount Street, Blackfriars," observed a student who had been blessed by nature with beetle brows and very irregular features.

"I thank you, Face," said Mr Deadwood, with simple courtesy.

The red-haired one moved that they should look Jim up. The motion being agreed upon, the party started off in twos and threes, the Welshman previously directing that Jim was not to be apprised of their visit until all had assembled outside Taplow's surgery.

It was not a very far cry to Mount Street. Arrived there, and perceiving a light in the surgery window, the Welshman turned the handle of the street door and walked in.

"Jim's out," he announced, appearing on the threshold a few moments later; "come on in."

They went in, and proceeded, while waiting for Jim, to amuse themselves in a naive manner that was very upsetting to any compartment they chanced to favour with their attentions. In point of fact, they turned the surgery upside down, and were about to proceed with the still more disconcerting operation of putting it straight again, when a bearded gentleman appeared in the doorway and stared aghast at the confusion they had wrought.

"What are you doing here?" he demanded, furiously.

"Waiting for Jim," said the Welshman.

"What do you mean? Who are you?"

"Go away," said Mr Deadwood, playfully discharging the contents of a four-ounce syringe at the newcomer; "we don't want you to play with us!"

"Play with you! I'll have the police to you! I'll teach you to play here!" thundered the bearded man, turning on his heel and hastening down the street.

Jim's successor--for the bearded man was no less a personage--soon returned well backed up by several representatives of the law.

"Now, then, what's all this foolery? Clear out of here at once!" observed one of the latter, a stout sergeant.

The Welshman advanced. "We have come to see Dr Mortimer. You can't turn us out of here unless he wishes us to be turned out."

"Get out--all of you!" was the sergeant's abrupt rejoinder.

"Before we get out," said Mr Deadwood, "tell us what right this hairy-faced fellow has here, my excellent but somewhat overfed friend!"

"You'll find out what right he has here when you appear before the beak to-morrow!" spluttered the sergeant.

"Corpulent people should avoid excitement," put in Mr Deadwood.

The sergeant glared at him and went on: "This here surgery is Dr Taplow's, and this gentleman is in charge of it. You've come and broke up the wrong place, and so we must take you to the station--that is to say, if this gentleman wishes to charge you."

"Certainly," said the bearded man; "they have damaged the place, and must pay for it."

The students looked ruefully at each other.

"We thought this was Dr Mortimer's surgery," one of them said.

"Dr Mortimer's is farther down the street," said the sergeant, "so you've made a big mistake in playin' the fool here, and giving me cheek. You've got to come to the station, every man jack of you, and the quieter you come the better it will be for you in the morning."

Now the Welshman--acknowledged leader of the band--spoke up.

"Look here, bobby," he said, "we'll go to the station, but we're not going to be marched off like pickpockets. If you keep to the left-hand pavement, we'll keep to the right, and I'll give you my word of honour for the lot that we won't cut."

The Welshman had a good pair of eyes, and the stout sergeant was an old hand at summing up character at short notice. He conferred briefly with his men.

"Very well," he said, at length, "I'll agree to that. First give me your name and address, though."

The Welshman handed him his card. The sergeant made a sign, and the police withdrew. Then the Welshman formed his men up in single file, gave the word to "March!" and led them in good order out of the surgery and down Mount Street, keeping them to the edge of the right-hand pavement. The sergeant, true to his compact, kept his men to the left-hand pavement, the bearded man walking sulkily by his side.

It is now necessary to return to Jim and his movements.

This had been a very hard day with the Long 'Un, who had been out and about constantly, for there was much sickness in the district. Some of Jim's frequent emergings were witnessed by young Isaac Harris, who, as often as his duties in the shop permitted it, took up a position on his step and watched the surgery door.

For, ever since Jim, before Rebecca Nathan's very eyes, had expelled Isaac from his surgery in the manner recently described, Isaac had been thirsting for revenge. And to-day an excellent idea had entered his head. The chief of the Hooligans still looked in at the Harris emporium for odd meals, and Isaac fancied that this nice gentleman would serve as a convenient instrument in the matter of harming Dr Mortimer. Isaac knew that the Hooligans bore Jim plenty of ill-will, and would be only too pleased to get an opportunity to wreak their spite against him. And it struck Isaac that their most favourable opportunity would occur at night-time, when Jim was attending a patient in one of the narrow courts in which the locality abounded.

The Hooligan leader had been in that afternoon, and Isaac had lost no time in sounding him about Jim. The Hooligan's sentiments and hopes were expressed in brief but blasphemous terms.

Now, Isaac knew what sort of metal Jim was composed of, and did not believe in his heart of hearts that the Hooligans would ever succeed in--as they elegantly put it--"outing" him; but he fancied they might be able to hustle him and do him some serious harm, and that, Isaac decided, would just suit _his_ book. He did not want them to murder Jim, only hurt him.

That evening the Hooligan came in again and consumed a large meal which heartened him up considerably, and filled him with a savage desire to turn his hand against some of his fellow-beings. Kicking a policeman's skull in would have formed a most delectable dessert to his repast.

As he was leaving the shop in his usual truculent manner, he found Isaac lounging on the step.

"Good evening, sir," said Isaac, smoothly.

"Evening, guv'nor."

Isaac gazed at the other craftily. "Our dear doctor has been busy to-day," he murmured.

The Hooligan spat on the pavement.

"'E's off again--just gone to Pine Court," added Isaac, carelessly.

An evil light glittered in the Hooligan's pig eyes. "Pine Court? 'Ow d'yer know?"

"Saw a kid from the court fetch him."

Half a dozen friends of the Hooligan's were standing idly about near a public-house close by. The Hooligan's glance fell on them. There was a shady little tavern not much farther away, where half a dozen more would certainly be "on call."

The Hooligan lit his short clay pipe, nodded to Isaac, and strolled away. Isaac saw the man approach his pals and enter into conversation with them. Then Isaac chuckled contentedly and went back to his work.

The case Jim had been called to was a serious one, and he was detained over an hour in the wretched room the Pine Court urchin had conducted him to. He drew a deep breath of relief when he at length quitted the loathsome sleeping-den and walked down the dirty stairs into the comparatively fresh air of the court below.

He was fumbling for his pipe, thinking to enjoy a smoke on his way back to the surgery, when a sight met his eyes which, for a moment, made his heart beat quickly. The narrow entrance to the court--whose opposite end was a cul de sac--was completely blocked up by a gang of louts. A glance showed him that their attitude was hostile to himself, and another quick glance round and about made manifest the disturbing and uncomfortable fact that he was absolutely cornered.

He knew, however, that it would be fatal to show the slightest fear or hesitation. They meant mischief, and although, to the best of his reckoning, they were twelve to his one, he saw he would have to go for the lot.

He walked quickly and resolutely forward. As he came up to the gang, the foremost of its members retired a few steps, for Jim's prowess was well known to them. All but one--a stalwart ruffian who stood his ground and leered up impudently at the young doctor.

"We've got yer this time," he said, exultingly.

For reply, Jim hit him, and as the man dropped to the ground with a howl of pain, a knife fell from his nerveless hand.

Instantly the rest threw themselves upon Jim. A blow from a knobbed stick crushed his hat in, and a belt-buckle, whizzing past his ear, cut right through his coat and nipped his shoulder. Simultaneously he was venomously kicked and struck on the body and legs. Still, no blow got really home, and Jim, warming to the fight, left a bruise every time either of his fists shot out. Several belts came swinging at his face; he dodged them, then seized one, wrenched it out of its owner's hands, and lashed back at them with the cruel buckle.

He was nearer the entrance of the court now, and as he fought, edged still farther that way. Perceiving his design, the Hooligans massed themselves between their single opponent and the outlet, and such were their numbers that Jim had to retire towards the blind wall at the end of the court.

Step by step Jim was being forced back. If he were to make a rush into any of the houses he would be trapped still more surely. He was safer in the open. But when he reached the wall, and could retire no farther, the end must come, for the wall was unscalable, and he could not break his way through this pack of human wolves.

Still, Jim was lashing out as furiously as ever with the belt, and the curses of the Hooligans gave proof of the execution the heavy buckle wrought amongst them. His hat was off, his face was bleeding, his breath was coming in short, sharp gasps; they were all round him, hemming him in, and in a few seconds he must have been down, when of a sudden there was a great, boisterous cry, and Jim knew that help had come.

"_Matt's! Matt's to the rescue! Hold up, Jim! Matts!_"

This was the call as the sixteen men from Matt's, headed by the Welshman and Deadwood, came streaming into the court.

Unseen by the Hooligans, the small boy who had fetched Jim to his mother, witnessing Jim's perilous situation, had crept out of the court, and, encountering the students on their march down Mount Street, had, in a few breathless words, informed them of the "doctor's" plight. If it had been any other doctor they would have flown to the rescue, but they guessed it was Jim, and, directed by the urchin, made a frantic rush for Pine Court.

The Hooligans left Jim to face the new danger. The students and the Mount Street ruffians met with a crash, and there was a short, sharp _melee_.