The Death-Doctor/08
CHAPTER VIII
IN WHICH A PROBLEM IS PRESENTED
WHEN Dr. Richard Elleston was defeated by me in our candidature for the post of Honorary Physician to the newly-erected Cottage Hospital at Newbridge, where I practised for a little time after Okehampton and on my return from the East, a great amount of sympathy was shown by his numerous friends and admirers, and all the gossips of the neighbourhood had a most valuable topic of conversation for some weeks.
But it remains for you, my dear friend, to let the light in upon the secret history of the election.
He had been established in practice on the spot for several years. I was a comparatively new comer. He had, as patients, nearly all the influential residents. I had the poorer people and—his enemies. As you know well, every medical man in general practice is certain to make plenty of the latter. We were, of course, working in opposition, but I adopted the friendly attitude towards him, whereas he, whenever the opportunity occurred, did his best to depreciate my abilities and position. He was in reality very jealous of me, and, though I say it, he had reason to be.
Now, this post to the new hospital meant a great deal to the man who got it, and I made up my mind that the man should be myself. But how was it to be managed? It could only be done by undermining his position among the governors who had the power of election and who were all, with two exceptions, in his favour. Not that I was unpopular, but he was the older man, the more experienced practitioner, and the private medical attendant to all but the two I mention of the powers in existence
The Chairman was a retired Army officer, a red-faced, loud-voiced, dogmatic and bumptious colonel, but withal a man who meant well, and who stood by his friends. It was through this man that I decided to act. He had married a second time, and had one child—a boy of ten—by the second wife, of whom he was inordinately proud, but who was by no means a nice youth—not one of the decent, manly, don't-care-a-bit sort of boys, but a weedy, red-haired stripling, who was cordially disliked by everyone with whom he came in contact.
I was quite friendly with Colonel Matherson. Indeed I frequently dropped into his bungalow after dinner for a game of picquet a cigar and a whisky-and-soda, and it was on the occasion of one of these evening visits that I learnt the fact that "Octavius the beloved" was sick and that Dr. Elleston had been called in.
The idea came to me in a second. Here was my opportunity to discredit my opponent. It was very evident that if I could turn the Chairman of the Governors into a supporter of myself, instead of the champion of Dr. Elleston, I should have a very strong sporting chance of grabbing the appointment.
I called next day on some pretext and inquired after the young cub Octavius, and was told that he was somewhat better, but that the doctor had put him on very light diet as he considered that he habitually ate too many sweets. I could see a substratum of annoyance in Mrs. Matherson; her dear Octavius could never do anything wrong. "Eat too much—nonsense—nonsense," she declared.
"Poor little chap," I said very sympathetically, "I'm so sorry for him. Can I go and cheer him up a little?"
"Please do, Dr. d'Escombe," said the lady with a grateful look. "He will be so glad to see you."
I saw him—nasty little youngster!—but I made myself very pleasant, and got a reward for my forbearance that evening when Colonel Matherson thanked me for my kindness.
"What do you think of him?" he asked me.
I was very diplomatic, my dear Brown, I can assure you. I had a rather difficult game to play.
"He doesn't seem to me to be ill," I said with a somewhat nervous air. "But it is never wise to take things too lightly."
"Just what I said, the very words!" assented the Colonel, evidently very pleased. "I told Dr. Elleston that he is a delicate and highly-strung boy and difficult to understand."
Highly strung! Oh, the value of those two words to us of the medical profession—eh? They will get us out of almost any difficulty if we manipulate them properly!
"I doubt if Dr. Elleston really understands children such as Octavius," he continued, "although he is a good man, a very good man. But somehow, as my wife says, he lacks sympathy."
So he did. Brown, for some cases; he was a bit too straightforward for really successful general practice.
"Yes," interrupted the Colonel's wife as she suddenly re-entered the room, "he told me that a dose of castor oil and three days starvation would do the boy all the good in the world."
"Oh, dear, dear!" said the anxious father. "Starve the poor child! What do you think, d'Escombe?"—turning to me.
"Oh, I mustn't interfere, you know," I replied gravely. "But you must not let him get too low. I'm hoping to see him all right in a day or two." As a matter of fact Master Octavius was in for an attack of typhoid fever with which I proposed to infect him within the next two or three days.
The point was this. Typhoid takes a very long time to develop, as perhaps you know; you may be infected for three weeks or a month—walking about, playing games, doing your work, and simply feeling tired and limp all the time—but in the end the acute stage of the fever supervenes and the patient becomes really ill.
I luckily had at this time a patient who was suffering from typhoid—just an isolated case—and on the following day I obtained the necessary infective matter from his house—how, it matters not—and on the following day called to see Octavius and gave him a few sweets, knowing that as they were forbidden him he would hold his tongue, and most certainly eat them.
And now came the question of diplomacy. I had to get my fish to rise to my fly.
The Colonel was always pleased to see me for a smoke and drink after dinner, and within the week Dr. Elleston and myself were sitting together listening to the yarns of the old soldier.
"You are quite happy about the boy, Doctor?" he asked my professional brother.
"Oh, quite," answered Elleston in his bluff way; "he's all right; just the digestive upset of a boy who doesn't know when he's had enough to eat."
"Well, I thought he looked a little bit seedy," I remarked in a deprecating way. "But still, boys will be boys."
"Yes, of course," laughed "the Opposition." "I'll wager my reputation he's all right in a few days."
"I hope you're right," said I with a side glance at the Colonel, who, I could see, noticed that we were not quite in agreement. And we proceeded to talk of other matters. But later, when Elleston had gone, my host said to me:
"I believe you're a bit doubtful about 'Tavy,' aren't you, d'Escombe?"
"To tell you truth, Colonel, I am just a shade," I answered. "But there, it's not my business; only I can't help thinking that one cannot be too cautious in such a case. He's rather a delicate little chap, and, personally, I should not yet give a definite opinion."
"You're a good chap, d'Escombe," was the answer. "I tell you frankly I wish you were looking after him for me, but I can't give Elleston up—although I believe he's a bit out of date."
And so it went on for a week or two; the boy to my eye evidently sickening for typhoid, but to that of Elleston he appeared simply lazy, spoiled and lackadaisical.
The Colonel worried as days passed, and one night Elleston, having been badgered a good deal, said: "I'll bet my reputation, and anything else you like, that the child is well in a week."
He looked at me, with no friendly glance, and I took his challenge.
"I can't help thinking you're wrong," I replied, having waited for this opportunity; "but, of course, I can't say much; I haven't examined him. I only go by his appearance."
"Yes, and that's a darned poor one," interrupted the boy's father. "What about a consultation, Elleston?"
At this the senior practitioner of the district flared up.
"Oh, if you're not satisfied, Colonel, do as you like; it's quite immaterial to me. Perhaps d'Escombe would like to take the case over."
This was war to the knife.
"Not at all," I said very quietly; "there is no reason to be offended. Dr. Elleston. The Colonel is naturally very anxious."
"Anxious!" the other almost shouted. "Anxious! over an overfed youngster whose digestion and stomach have been upset by improper feeding! There's nothing to be anxious about."
"Don't get out of temper about it, my dear chap," said the Colonel apologetically. "You know I've trusted you all these years. But with only the one boy I get 'nervy.'"
"And rightly so, sir," I chimed in, seeing that a little fillip was necessary. "And although I am sorry that Dr. Elleston should have taken what I've said in the spirit he has, yet I still say I am not quite happy about the boy."
This was enough. The old family doctor, with a savage look at me, said he was going; and the Colonel accompanied him to the door. Before I left I distinctly heard him say that if anything went wrong it would be a bad day for Elleston.
Days went on, the boy looked whiter and more tired, and certainly his medical attendant would have sounded a note of alarm earlier except for the fact that he would have to acknowledge his mistake, and my perspicuity, until at last the boy's temperature told its tale.
Then there was trouble. A consulting physician was sent for, but before that the Colonel asked me my private opinion and I told him I feared typhoid. He mentioned this to Elleston, who pooh-poohed the idea, until the new adviser said definitely that it was so.
The day following the consultation saw me installed as the family doctor, Elleston having been summarily dismissed after a great row with the Colonel.
He came to my place the same night, and asked me why I had suspected typhoid. Had I had any cases at the time?
"It's very curious to me," he continued. "Why, where has the infection come from? The boy has not been out for over a month; that means that he has probably become infected since he's been laid up. I don't understand it, d'Escombe," he said very severely. "I suppose this will mean that you will get the new appointment—but be careful," he added banefully; "I tell you I don't understand it."
I laughed lightly at his words, but all the time felt a little nervous. If the boy should let out the fact that I gave him the sweets some weeks before, it might look awkward. Elleston was suspicious.
I thought a lot that night, and decided that no more risk must be run. You will not be surprised, therefore, to hear that my special hypodermic was loaded in my pocket on my next visit to the wretched Octavius, and had you had the opportunity of watching me you would have seen that the charge in the syringe was labelled "Muscarin."
I sent the nurse on a short errand to another part of the house when I went upstairs to my young patient, who was almost unconscious, being in the very acute stage of the fever.
And within twelve hours he died somewhat suddenly of heart failure.
This was absolutely the death-blow to Dr. Elleston's hopes for the new appointment, as Colonel Matherson, quietly primed and prompted in a diplomatic manner by me, swore that his old medical attendant shouldn't have a look in—and he didn't.
I got the post comfortably, and I really don't think the world lost anything by the "dropping out" of Octavius.