Wives and Daughters: An Every-Day Story - Page 266/572

"No," said Osborne, "I beg your pardon; but it's not that; I am

really out of order. I daresay my unwillingness to encounter any

displeasure from my father is the consequence of my indisposition;

but I'll answer for it, it is not the cause of it. My instinct tells

me there is something really the matter with me."

"Come, don't be setting up your instinct against the profession,"

said Mr. Gibson, cheerily.

He dismounted, and throwing the reins of his horse round his arm, he

looked at Osborne's tongue and felt his pulse, asking him various

questions. At the end he said,--

"We'll soon bring you about, though I should like a little more quiet

talk with you, without this tugging brute for a third. If you'll

manage to ride over and lunch with us to-morrow, Dr. Nicholls will

be with us; he's coming over to see old Rowe; and you shall have the

benefit of the advice of two doctors instead of one. Go home now,

you've had enough exercise for the middle of a day as hot as this is.

And don't mope in the house, listening to the maunderings of your

stupid instinct."

"What else have I to do?" said Osborne. "My father and I are not

companions; one can't read and write for ever, especially when

there's no end to be gained by it. I don't mind telling you--but in

confidence, recollect--that I've been trying to get some of my poems

published; but there's no one like a publisher for taking the conceit

out of one. Not a man among them would have them as a gift."

"Oho! so that's it, is it, Master Osborne? I thought there was some

mental cause for this depression of health. I wouldn't trouble my

head about it, if I were you, though that's always very easily said,

I know. Try your hand at prose, if you can't manage to please the

publishers with poetry; but, at any rate, don't go on fretting

over spilt milk. But I mustn't lose my time here. Come over to us

to-morrow, as I said; and what with the wisdom of two doctors, and

the wit and folly of three women, I think we shall cheer you up a

bit."

So saying, Mr. Gibson remounted, and rode away at the long, slinging

trot so well known to the country people as the doctor's pace.

"I don't like his looks," thought Mr. Gibson to himself at night,

as over his daybooks he reviewed the events of the day. "And then

his pulse. But how often we're all mistaken; and, ten to one, my own

hidden enemy lies closer to me than his does to him--even taking the

worse view of the case."