# The Frobishers/Chapter 19

SOCIAL EVENINGS
So soon as Joan had an hour that she could consider her own, she went "up bank," i.e. up hill, into the higher portion of the town, and rung at the surgery bell of a doctor of whom she had received an account as a man of probity, of much experience and good attainments.
She was shown into his presence.
He was a rugged man, with features rough-hewn by nature, and his hair bristling and resisting attempts to smooth and arrange it—supposing such attempts were made.
He looked at her attentively with sharp, searching eyes, and said—
"What is your name? Where do you live?"
"My name is Frobisher, and I live in the street by Fennings' bank, in which I work."
"Humph! You were not born here, don't belong here, and were in better circumstances."
"Excuse me, sir, I did not come to your surgery to discuss where I was born, or what were my circumstances, but to obtain a professional opinion."
"Go on, then. What is the matter with you?"
"Nothing. I am quite well."
"Then what the devil do you mean by trespassing on my time? Time means money. What do you want? Not to study my pretty face, and sniff at my bottles."
"I have come about two friends," said Joan, undismayed by his roughness, "both of whom have been lead-poisoned."
"Oh, lead! lead again! et toujours le plomb jusque a la fin."
"Mais c'est vrai," she answered, without a moment's consideration, accustomed as she had been to converse in French with her Parisian governess.
"Ah! vous étes moitié Française?"
"Du tout, monsieur!" said Joan, laughing "Cependant, revenons a nos moutons s'il vous plait."
"Bien, mademoiselle. What do you want?"
"As I said, I have two friends suffering from lead-poisoning. One is merely deadly white and languid, and seems to be devoid of energy—and I notice there is a trembling as of palsy. The other has lost the use of her right hand. She lives next door, and is very dear to me, and I desire to know whether the lead in both cases will lead to further mischief, or whether the poison can be counteracted and the patients recovered."
"Why have you not brought them here?"
"Because these are but samples of many cases; and I know that you must be familiar with all the symptoms and consequences of lead-poisoning. I am associated with girls working in the deadly processes of colour-dusting, glost-placing and ground-laying, majolica-painting and ware-cleaning after the dipper. A stitch in time saves nine. I may be of use, as I am in the bank, and in daily intercourse with those in whom the poison is beginning to work, or who are merely menaced. If I knew the proper treatment to adopt, so soon as the symptoms appear, bad cases might be checked. Now as to the two about whom I inquire principally—what is to be done? Can they be pulled round? Both of these cases in which I am interested are no longer subject to further contact with lead. What is to be done for others, as they fall out of health from the same cause?"
"You are a sensible young woman. I wish there were more like you. The very best advice I can offer, relative to such as show symptoms of plumbism, is to give over at once."
"There one is met by this difficulty. The girls have to earn their daily bread. They are in dire fear of abandoning their places in the bank lest others should step in whilst they are recruiting, and so, when recovered, they find no opening for them. For this reason, the poor things do all in their power to conceal or disguise the ravages of the poison."
"I know they do. More fools they."
"But consider. They have no sum of money on which to fall back if taken ill."
"Their own fault. They have put it all on their backs."
"Granted that some have been so inconsiderate, yet it is not so with all. They are young, they have not been long out of their apprenticeship—and you must know that, as apprentices, their earnings are very small. Suppose that they have been receiving full wages for three or four years. Out of this poor sum is it possible for them to form a fund that will sustain them through the months of enforced idleness, whilst they are slowly recovering? However, I have not come to discuss that point. I desire information. What is to be done? I am bewildered. Some say lemons, some milk, and some—but these are men—swear by beer."
"Lemons are useless. Beer is of some value as a solvent, and serves as an excuse for a soak."
"Will you write me a page of directions? I assure you that I will carry them out as fully and as exactly as I am permitted by my not over docile patients."
"I will do it for you, de bon coeur," said the surgeon, seating himself at his desk.
"And, sir, if you please, be legible and do not form the hieroglyphics intended only to be deciphered by chemists."
The medical man laughed, and began to write.
Presently he looked up, and said with a mild oath—
"I cannot see why in the devil's name we should employ so much lead in our English potteries. I have been at Sèvres and at Limoges. Little is employed there, or only such as is fritted, the lead oxide united with silicic acid, so as to form a lead silicate, which is almost harmless, though such as do the fritting run considerable risks. With us, from generation to generation it must be the same lead, at the cost of health and life. There," said he, thrusting a sheet of paper towards her, "I'll make you up the stuff, iodide of potassium, as you require it, and we shall never quarrel over the price—because it shall cost you nothing. Iodide of potassium is the one thing you will need, and let 'em tipple sulphuric acid daily—diluted, of course."
With regard to her visitors, Joan found it necessary to frame certain regulations and make limitations.
Her first acquaintances were desirous of introducing others, their own friends, and pleaded hard for them. In her workshop were girls who drew to her as if influenced by a magnetic attraction, and who craved to be added to the number of those who had the privilege of entrée to No. 16.
The evenings had grown into an institution, and had, accordingly, to be given shape. The dimensions of the parlour would not admit a crowd being assembled in it. Joan had to fix days and hours, and limit the visits of her friends to certain evenings within specified hours. At first the girls sat over the fire, and about the room, and gossiped, cooked chestnuts, baked potatoes in the ashes, or toasted apples. They told tales, sang, and took to playing games.
Joan encouraged them to bring needlework, stockings that had to be darned, and dresses to be mended. They were merry beings, amused with trifles, pleased to be in Joan's parlour; were very candid in their opinions, frank in their judgments; very open in revealing their own foibles and failings; and they were much disposed to make a confidante of their hostess.
Sibyll unbent slightly, but never treated the girls as equals, always addressing them in a tone and with a manner that implied her own superiority. Joan saw that this wounded, and would have been resented had not her visitors been willing to swallow their mortification upon her account.
"I do think this is really too bad," said Sibyll one day.
"What is too bad?"
"A piano. You are never weary of twanging on the string of our straitened means, and yet—here comes in a cottage piano. You know that I am not musical and do not care to play, and that you have no time for hammering on the notes. This is, simply and solely, good money thrown away."
"But, my dear Sibyll!"
"I know what you are about to say—that you have bought it so as to accompany those girls in their singing. As it is—you do a great deal too much for them, much that is most uncalled for."
"My dear Sibyll, you are premature. Not a penny of our money has gone for this piano. They have clubbed their poor little savings together, and without a word to me have hired it for the winter months. It is most kind."
"Kind! really, Joan, you are bewitched. They have done it for themselves, for their own pleasure."
"It is intended as a pleasure to me. Tell me frankly, Sibyll, are they not nice girls?"
"For their class they are not amiss—but, of course, they are not ladies."
"Sibyll, we are, after all, made out of the same clay. Some are biscuit, some have been passed through the dipper's trough, and have been glost over. I am not sure that the dip or the colour-dusting that you consider qualifies the lady is not in some cases deleterious. That which constitutes the true lady is the stuff underneath, the ware, and not the glost—good feeling, consideration for others, a clean mind, and an honest heart; and that these girls have. Sibyll, there is coarse brown ware that is flashed over with a film and looks very fine, but every chip reveals the mean material beneath."
"We shall never think alike," said the younger, and put on her hat and cloak.
"Why! Where are you going?" asked Joan.
"Out. I am not bound to be here all the time that you have your At Home, and I won't."
Before Joan could detain her, she had whisked through the door and was gone.
Next moment Polly Myatt came in; she looked doubtfully towards Joan, and stood rubbing her maimed hand with the other.
"What is it, Polly?" asked Joan. "I have got to know you so well that I can read your mind in your honest face at a glance. You are wishful to say something, and yet do not quite know how to say it."
"It is this," answered the girl. "I don't want to seem to be a sneak, but—your sister is so young."
"Well, and what of that?"
"There has been Caroline Grosser waiting for her a few doors off, and they have gone into the town together."
"Caroline Grosser—I do not know her."
"But your sister does. She is not one of us. She's a bit wild. There is no real wickedness in her, but she's giddy, and she is no good company for your sister. That is what I say, but do not call me a sneak. I wouldn't have harm come to her, and bring trouble thereby to you, not for all that Fennings' bank is worth."