Bill the Minder/The Doctor
THE DOCTOR
FOR many days they had now travelled without meeting with any adventure, when one evening they saw coming towards them a bright young lad, who was leading by the hand an exceedingly learned-looking old gentleman. Their appearance was such as to arouse the King's curiosity to such a degree that he asked the boy the time as he was passing, and then, when all stood still in the road, he led the talk from one thing to another until at last, emboldened by their friendliness, the King came to the point, and asked the lad who he was and whence he had come.
The two strangers then sat down at the side of the road, and the lad thus addressed the King:—
'You may not believe it, but I am the original Ptolemy Jenkinson, the only and well-beloved nephew of that great and celebrated doctor, Ebenezer Scrout, whom you now see at my side. When, a trembling orphan, I was thrown upon an unfeeling world, he alone of my numerous uncles, aunts, so-called friends and guardians, undertook to find me a comfortable and even luxurious home, and so to educate me that I might prove worthy of occupying the exalted position for which I am destined.
'Uncle Ebenezer was my mother's brother and, a true Scrout, he inherited all his good qualities from my grandfather, Phelim Scrout, the well-known turf-cutter, from whom, by the way, I inherit most of mine—but of these it does not become me to speak.
'Many people, jealous perhaps of his great fame, have ridiculed my uncle's claim to be a member of this ancient family, but to set this matter for ever at rest, I have here copied a few notes from the Scroutean genealogical tree, preserved in the archives of the family.' Ptolemy Jenkinson here took from his pocket and handed to Bill a sheet of paper upon which the following notes were written in a clear bold hand:—
MISTS OF THE PAST
When these had been examined by the company, Ptolemy resumed his tale:—
'Uncle Eb, as I very soon learned to call him, was ever the victim of his own generous heart. Continually adopting people, both old and young, he was doomed to be taken advantage of by those to whom he was most kind. How well can I remember, amongst many another ungrateful adopted son, uncle, aunt or cousin, young Sigurd, the birthday-monger, who entered the family about the same time as myself It was he who secretly wrote his name on each page of Uncle Eb's birthday-book and received a present every day from the absent-minded old gentleman until he was discovered writing his name twice on some pages and was straightway disadopted.
'Not alone to his own family circle was the doctor's 
FAR SOONER HAVE THE MUMPS
kindness confined; it extended to all with whom he came in contact. Before sending in his bills he always provided his patients with enough money to pay them, and promptly returned the cash with the receipts, deducting only one penny for the stamp in each case.
'Invariably most sympathetic with his suffering patients, he spent many years of his noble life in studying how to make his medicines as pleasant and sweet to the taste as the most delightful confections ever placed upon the Lord Mayor's table, while his greatest endeavour was always to make a period of sickness one also of pleasurable relaxation for his patients.
'In time the children went mad with excitement, and jumped for very joy on learning that they had contracted measles, and would far sooner, any day, have the mumps than a birthday every week. And oh! what thrills of joy would pass through their little frames on learning that they would have to lie up for a bilious attack and be attended by the good-natured Doctor Ebenezer Scrout, and treated with his delicious jalaps and powders.
'Unfortunately, however, so pleasant was the treatment, that the children in time were even tempted to make themselves ill on purpose, by eating as many jam puffs as they could buy with their Saturday monies, and soon nearly every child was down with a bad bilious attack, and all the schools had to be closed. 'Even the grown-ups began to indulge in these jam puffs, buying them in large quantities and falling ill one by one, much preferring to be tucked up snugly in bed with a comfortable bilious attack and the good-natured doctor in attendance, to ordinary good health and hard work, with the many disappointments and trials of everyday life.
'First the Lord Mayor was taken bad—then the leader of the town band and all his bandsmen. Now the shopmen began to feel queer, and one by one the aldermen toddled to their beds. In time everybody was laid up, and no one was left to do the work of the town. All the shops, theatres, markets, and railway stations were closed, and the streets quite deserted except for the doctor and the puff baker, each trying to undo the work of the other.
'Hardly a sound could be heard in the streets except perhaps the clink of a spoon against a bottle from a room above, as some patient prepared his evening dose, or the shuffling footsteps of the old doctor as he went his daily round, and sometimes the loud rat-tat of the puff baker would awaken the echoes of the lonely streets as he called from door to door for orders in the morning.
'Strange grasses and sweet-scented wild flowers began to grow in the streets, and mushrooms and straggling carrots forced a way between the crevices of the pavements. Sprays of wild spinach hung from the lamp-posts, and the market-place became one waving jungle of broccoli. The very sparrows, deprived of their daily crumbs, grew thin and nervy with the green diet they were compelled to subsist upon. Croaking and griding, instead of chirruping musically to their young as is their wont, they so affected the good-hearted doctor that he could never pass them without some cheering word, and never could he withstand the beseeching look in their eyes. Within doors the prospect was hardly more encouraging. Strong vegetable-marrows twined their branches and their many tendrils round the table legs and the chairs; great turnips stoutened and burst upon the stairs; spring onions bristled in the corners of the Lord Mayor's dining-hall, while his grand piano was completely hidden in the gorgeous festoons of mint that, unchecked, had run a ragged riot about the place.
'At last, after two months of sickness, and despite every attention and kindness on the part of the doctor, the patients began to weary of being ill and kept to their beds for so long. The Lord Mayor was the first to arise and, although very weak in the legs, he managed to crawl to the top of the stairs, and looking down, beheld, to his dismay, the dreadful state of ruin in which everything was involved. He called for his servants as loudly as his weakness would allow him, and, obtaining no reply, he scrambled down the stairs on his hands and knees, and clamoured shrilly for a cut from the joint. As, of course, there was no one 
THE PUFF BAKER
TREATED WITH DELICIOUS JALAPS
to procure this for him nor, indeed, any joint from which to procure a cut, he boiled himself an egg, and was able to survey the scene more calmly.
'Presently the aldermen crawled down one by one, then the shopmen, then the bandsmen, and, finally, the rest of the inhabitants, disturbed by the weeping and yells of those already arisen, struggled downstairs, and in agony beheld the general devastation.
'Resolved not to touch another drop of the doctor's medicine, they satisfied the cravings of their hunger, which now began to be felt, on the wild marrows, turnips, and mushrooms that everywhere abounded, and by degrees regained a little of their former vigour.
'The Lord Mayor and aldermen, already feeling a little more comfortable, held a long council, at which it was decided that it would be less expensive to burn the old town, and to build a new one on its site, than to try and clear up the old one. It was also decided The Lord Mayor held a long council
AS SOME PATIENT PREPARED HIS DOSE
to arrest the unfortunate doctor, whom they all now joined in accusing as the cause of their trouble, and bring him to trial.
'In the course of time the town was rebuilt, and the doctor was the first prisoner to stand on his trial at the new Town Hall.
'On the appointed day the Hall was crammed to its utmost, as at one time the prisoner had been much loved and looked up to by his fellow-townsmen.
'When the Lord Mayor arrived in state, between two Admirals of the Fleet, and took his seat, the foreman of the jury awakened his brother-jurors, who had been dozing off, and called for three cheers for the Lord Mayor, in which everybody joined. The Lord Mayor made no reply, except to frown severely at the foreman, and proceeded at once with the business in hand. "Lock all the doors and bring in the prisoner," cried he in a loud voice, after clearing his throat. The doors were instantly locked, but some confusion arose when it was discovered that they could not bring in the prisoner unless one were unlocked again. On this being very politely pointed out to the Lord Mayor (who did not seem quite to like being corrected), he altered his order, and cried out: "Bring in the prisoner, and lock all the doors." Immediately the band struck up the most martial music and the prisoner was brought in, tied tightly with twine, sealed with red sealing-wax, and guarded by a squad of infantry, who at once formed fours, and marked time for the rest of the afternoon.
'When the music had ceased, and the general excitement caused by the entrance of the prisoner had subsided, the Lord Mayor politely requested him to take a seat, which he very gladly did, on being untied by the policeman.
Now, as every one knew that the doctor had really been the cause of all the trouble, the only point to be decided at the trial was whether he had done it intentionally or not, and the Lord Mayor addressed him accordingly, asking him if he had anything to say upon the subject. The doctor happened to be thinking of something else at the moment and, moreover, had his head turned in another direction, watching a fly on the window of the hall, so that he did not hear the question. The Lord Mayor waited about a quarter of an hour for an answer, and receiving none, he 
THE VERY SPARROWS GREW THIN
called, in an annoyed tone, for the witnesses for the prosecution.
'The principal witness for the prosecution was a Sicilian char-woman, whose evidence was translated by one of the many aldermen present to assist in case of need. It appeared that in her young days she had made the acquaintance of a young and handsome Sicilian waiter, a distant cousin, and a native of the village in which she was born. So friendly did they become in time that he had confided to her many of the secrets of his life, and, amongst others, one that had weighed very heavily upon his mind. Some time previously, when employed at a well-known refreshment hall, on the coast of Lombardy, he had waited upon a distinguished young gentleman of considerable means, and had overheard him whisper to a chance acquaintance, seated at the next table, that a friend of his, a tall dark man, had met a young lady at a whist-party, whose greatest friend had an aunt, formerly engaged to a well-meaning curate, who averred that his brother knew for certain that IT WAS DONE QUITE INTENTIONALLY BY— Here the waiter was called away to another client, and did not hear the rest of the sentence.
'Now the Sicilian char-woman, on hearing this from her good friend, was much puzzled, and not knowing to whom the words might refer, made a mental note of it at the time. On reading of the arrest of the doctor, however, and of what he was accused, she concluded that there must be some connection between him and the man mentioned by the brother of the well-meaning curate formerly engaged to the aunt of the greatest friend of the young lady who was met at the whist party by the tall dark friend of the young gentleman of considerable means who, as you know, was waited upon by the Sicilian waiter at the well-known refreshment hall in Lombardy, so she had hastened from Sicily to tell her tale. At the conclusion of her evidence a murmur of admiration was heard all over the court, and the Lord Mayor was so charmed with her and the really pleasant way in which she had told her tale, that he lightly threw a half-crown to her across the hall, which she very neatly caught. She then sat down, amidst the cheers of the crowd.
'The principal witness for the defence was a young journeyman tailor, who stated that on cleaning out the pockets of an old coat which had been left at his house for repairs by a dark gentleman of mysterious appearance, he had discovered an old envelope upon which he could just trace the figures 56—6.30 A.M. The coat was never called for, and the tailor pondered over the envelope, but could make nothing of it. He showed it to every policeman of his acquaintance, but not one could unravel the mystery, and, as a last resource, he procured an introduction to the principal policeman in the British Museum Library. This great man examined the envelope very carefully, but with no result, and the only advice he could give him was to call at every house numbered 56 at 6.30 in the morning and see what would happen.
'The tailor followed this advice diligently for some time and met with many rebuffs, as he had nothing to say on the door being opened to him. At length one morning he came to an empty house numbered 56, the steps of which were littered with straw. Gazing hopelessly at this for some time, he noticed that three pieces pointed distinctly in one direction to the corner of the street, and you may well imagine his surprise when, on following the direction indicated by the straw, he came across this postcard.'
Ptolemy Jenkinson here handed this torn postcard to the company.
Ptolemy again proceeded with his story:—
'Now the tailor, more puzzled than ever, took the card home, and, after weeks of deep thinking, decided that the card must have been completed thus.'
Ptolemy here handed the remaining portion of card, with the tailor's suggested completion, to the company.
'You may guess the surprise of every one present when the tailor produced the completed card. The Lord Mayor gazed at it in astonishment. He turned it over and over, and suddenly noticing that there was a foreign stamp on the other side, he became more excited than ever, and asked if he might tear 
it off, as his son had rather a good collection. This the tailor readily allowed him to do, and this put the Lord Mayor in a good temper for the rest of the afternoon, and gave a more cheerful aspect to the case altogether.
'After the tailor's evidence, which, of course, proved that the doctor had not intended to bring about the harm of which he had been the unfortunate cause, there was nothing for the Lord Mayor to do but to acquit the prisoner, which he did, much to everybody's relief.
'The Lord Mayor then retired, after ordering a new suit of clothes from the journeyman tailor, and inviting the Sicilian charwoman and the other witnesses to progressive whist and to be introduced to his family.
'So, Gentlemen,' said Ptolemy in conclusion, 'my uncle and myself are quite free at last, and entirely at your service.'
Such a valuable offer could not very well be refused, so, after explaining the object of the expedition to their new friends, the whole force moved joyfully on.
