Читать книгу Geoffery Gambado - Cobbold Richard - Страница 4

A Brother Patient. – How to make the least use of a Horse

It was not long before the Doctor received a visit from an old friend; one, who had, in younger days, been a student in the same school, and entered into practice about the same time. The servant introduced Doctor Bull, – yes, Doctor John Bull, or, more properly styled, John Bull, Esq. M.D. – but not F.R.S. No, Doctor Bull had been more ambitious of practising, than of obtaining an empty name. He was a steady, well-to-do little man, and never lost a patient from any want of good manners or attention. He had certainly given much thought to the subject of Hydrophobia, and was considered no mean authority in the treatment of cases pronounced very malignant; but he by no means confined his abilities to that one branch of human misfortune.

He advised well with the Surgeons, and, generally, approved their treatment; but suggested frequently that judicious change which the nature of the case required. This he did in so gentlemanly and considerate a manner, that he was sure to be consulted by the very next patient of the same Surgeon.

In this way, he made many friends, lost very few, and found himself in the most affluent circumstances from very extensive practice. But, somehow, he overworked himself, and got into a very irritable, and at the same time desponding, tone. Prosperity tries men very often more severely than adversity.

The Doctor, as long as he had his way to make in the world, was more attentive to others, and thought less about his own ails than he did about others. Now that he had accumulated money, he began to think of investments, and how he should place to the best account his accumulations.

He also thought a little more of style, equipage, choice society, and innumerable things, to which his life had been hitherto a stranger. He began to think and to care more about himself, than he did about any body else. He became of some consequence in his neighbourhood, and expected every one to bow to him, and to treat him as a monied man. In short, from a pure philanthropist, he became almost a misanthrope.

He began to torment himself about every thing and every body. Nothing pleased him, – his wife and children disturbed him, – he was downright cross to them. And the same man, who once never came into his house without a cheerful smile for every one in it, now took no notice of anyone, except it were to find fault, and to let out words which in his sober senses he would be shocked to hear any other person make use of.

"My dear, I am sure you are not well," said Mrs. Bull, to him one day, "I am sure you are not well."

"I could have told you that," was the reply.

"Do take a little change."

"Pish! change! what change? I am changing, and shall soon make some great change, if things go on as they do in this house."

"Is anything wrong, my dear?"

"Yes, everything is wrong, – nothing is right, – all things are out of order, – and everything wants a change."

"Well, my dear, I think, if we took a house for three months at Brighton, it would do us all good."

"What good, madam? And who is to pay for it? What will become of my patients? and how am I to support my family? Brighton indeed! No, no! If I cannot be better without going to Brighton, I had better decline at home! Who is to look after my patients?"

"Why, there is Doctor Goodfellow, who I am sure you admire. He will attend any of your patients for you. Do, my dear, have a little compassion upon yourself."

"And, I suppose, upon you too; upon Kitty as well; upon Mary, Patty, and little Johnny; servants and all, – Heigh!"

"If you please, my dear, even so, for you have not had much compassion upon any of us lately; and a change towards us all would be very agreeable."

A good wife has nothing to fear, and especially when she knows that she so loves her husband as to desire his health above all things else, whether of body, mind, or spirit. If a wife may not expostulate with her husband, who may? And notwithstanding all his perverseness, she had her own way with him, because she felt it was right.

To Brighton they all went; but the fancy had taken too strong hold upon Doctor Bull, to let him rest. He worried himself because he was away from London, – he worried himself about the state of his patients, – the price of stocks, – the state of his own pulse, tongue, eyes, and lungs, – till he could endure himself no longer.

"I must go and see my old friend Gambado; I know he is a clever man, and has paid great attention to the nervous system, I must go and see him. He ordered his chariot, and drove to Bread-street; sent in his card, and was very soon shaking hands with his quondam friend Doctor Gambado.

"Bull, I am glad to see you! You are not come to consult me professionally about yourself, I hope?"

"I am, though, and about nobody else."

"Then what's the matter with you?"

"Dispeptic."

"Is that all?" "No! Choleric?" "Is that all?" "No." "What is the matter? out with it."

"To tell you the truth, Geoffery, I hardly know how to describe myself to you. You never were afflicted in the same way."

"How do you know that?"

"I am sure of it. You never were tormented morning, noon, and night. You never hated your profession, as I do mine. You never felt that you killed a great many more than you cured! You never loathed the sight of your wife and children, your house, servants, food, bed, board and lodging. In short, I am a regular monster to myself, and shall soon be good for nothing! Did you ever feel so, my friend?"

"Yes, and ten thousand times worse than all you have described."

"My dear friend, it is impossible."

"You may think it so, – and I certainly thought, once, exactly as you do now, – I can therefore make allowances for you. I tell you, no one ever appears so bad to any man, as the afflicted man does to himself. He would soon be better if he could once see others worse than himself, or as bad as himself, and wish, heartily wish, to see them cured. I tell you, such was my case – even worse than yours, – and I can cure you."

"Will you, my dear friend? will you?"

"Yes, will I; and as we never take fees of the faculty, therefore, I will cure you for nothing. I do not say, with nothing. – No. Will you follow my advice?"

"Yes, assuredly. What is it?"

"Ride on horseback."

"I never did so since I was a boy."

"Nor did I, till I tried."

"But did that cure you?"

"Yes, it did; and will cure you also."

"How long did you ride before you felt better?"

"Not an hour."

"How long before you were well again?"

"Six days; six miles out, every day; six miles home; and in six days all those morbid secretions went away from my brain, and I became as I am, a cheerful and happy man."

"But how shall I manage? I must begin de novo. I must learn, and I must get a horse that will just move as I want him, slow and sure; either a walk, or a gentle canter; one that does not mind the whip; and I dare not ride one with a spur."

"My dear fellow, I have a friend who served me with a horse just as I wanted it; and I have no doubt he can serve you just as well. I will write him a note, and you shall take it to him yourself."

Accordingly, the Doctor wrote him one of his laconic Epistles.

"Dear Tatt. – Mount my brother Doctor; give him a stiff-one, and one that will require a little exercise of the deltoides of the right arm. He can pay. Suit him well.

Yours, faithfully, – Geoffery Gambado."

"Mr. John Tattsall."

Now the celebrated Doctor Bull had as good a pair of carriage horses as any Squire Bull in England. Tatt. certainly mounted him on one "that he could not" make the least of. He was quiet enough, stiff enough, slow enough, steady enough; he did not mind the whip, for the Doctor might cut him over the head, neck, ears, and under the flank, and anywhere, and everywhere else; but the beast had no animation. The more he punished him, he only went the surest way to show to the world, How to make the least of a horse.

A few days after his horse exercise, he called on his friend Doctor Gambado, and said, "Doctor, I am certainly better; but I believe I should have been quite as well, if I had mounted a saddler's wooden horse, and tried to make him go, as I am in trying to make your friend Tattsall's horse go. I could not have believed it possible that any beast could bear without motion such a dose of whip-cord as I have administered to him."

"You asked for one that would bear the whip: did you not?"

"Yes, and one that was steady, did not shy, and would go very gently even a slow pace; but this horse has no pace at all."

"Well, my good old friend, I am glad you are better; that's a great point. I have no doubt, none in the world, that if you could mount Master Johnny's rocking-horse, and would do so, and have a good game of romps with your boy, it would do you as much good as showing to the world how to make the least of a horse, by kicking, flogging, checking his rein, and trying to persuade him to go on.

"But if you will only walk down with me to John Tattsall's stables, I have no doubt you will quickly learn a lesson of equestrian management that shall soon set you right with the public, and most especially with yourself. You have learnt nothing but how to make the least of a horse. Let my servant take your horse back; and if John Tattsall do not soon show you how to make the most of a horse, then do not pay him either for his horse or for his pains; but set all down to my account. Be seated, my dear fellow, whilst I send your horse back with a note. The Doctor wrote —

Dear John, – My brother Bull wants to learn how to make the most of a horse. We will be with you in the course of an hour.

Ever yours, – Geoffery Gambado."

"Mr. John Tattsall."

The brothers M.D. sat down to an hour's chat upon politics, stocks, dividends, and philosophy; and at the end of one hour were seen wending their way arm-in-arm to the celebrated Livery Stables of John Tattsall, whither we will follow them, just to see if we can behold a contrast.