And the
doctor strode up, directed by the whispering awestruck maid, to Sturk's
bed-chamber, with his hands in his muff, after the manner of doctors in
his day, without asking questions, or hesitating on lobbies, for the
sands of his minutes ran out in gold-dust. So, with a sort of awe and
suppressed bustle preceding and following him, he glided up stairs and
straight to the patient's bedside, serene, saturnine, and rapid.
In a twinkling the maid was running down the street for Toole, who had
kept at home, in state costume, expecting the consultation with the
great man, which he liked. And up came Toole, with his brows knit, and
his chin high, marching over the pavement in a mighty fuss, for he knew
that the oracle's time and temper were not to be trifled with.
In the club, Larry the drawer, as he set a pint of mulled claret by old
Arthur Slowe's elbow, whispered something in his ear, with a solemn
wink.
'Ho!--by Jove, gentlemen, the doctor's come--Doctor Pell. His coach
stands at Sturk's door, Larry says, and we'll soon hear how he fares.'
And up got Major O'Neill with a 'hey! ho--ho!' and out he went, followed
by old Slowe, with his little tankard in his fist, to the inn-door,
where the major looked on the carriage, lighted up by the footman's
flambeau, beneath the old village elm--up the street--smoking his pipe
still to keep it burning, and communicating with Slowe, two words at a
time.
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