# The Doubting of the Doctor

Extracted from Windsor magazine, v24 1906, pp. 179-185. Accompanying illustrations may be omitted.
THE DOUBTING OF THE DOCTOR.
By HENRY C. ROWLAND
THE sudden shying of his hunter almost threw the doctor into the road; then the outer wheel of the high dog-cart struck a rock upon the bank, and for a while the doctor hovered in mid-air, as it seemed to him, at least three feet above the seat. So perfect, however, was his Park form that, when he alighted, his former correct position was unchanged by the breadth of a hair.
Somewhat startled and decidedly annoyed by the unlooked-for manœuvre, the doctor brought in his hunter with a vigour that almost hauled him back over the dashboard. At the same moment a suspicious ripple came from the bushes that fringed the side of the winding road, and bringing his hunter to a full stop, the doctor looked in the direction with an air of pained surprise. It was in his mind that a few terse but dignified words of reproach on the impropriety of scaring ramping hunters might not be amiss.
Standing in the alders at the foot of an ivy-covered elm, there stood a lady, who, aside from her more conventional drapings, looked as if she might just have been released from the hollow trunk of the tree behind her.
Dr. Livingston Wentworth gathered whip and reins affectionately to the second button of his driving-coat, and with the other hand stiffly raised his hat. Something in the precision of his movements might have suggested the idea that his confidence in his balance had been destroyed by his recent shock.
"I beg your pardon——" he began.
"Oh, don't mention it," the lady interrupted. "I was a bit startled for a moment, as you seemed to be charging right down upon us; but it was all right as soon as I opened my parasol at your horse——"
"I fear that I——"
"Oh, don't apologise. Really, you know, it was well worth the shock to see the expression on your face as you sat there with so much dignity, about three feet above the seat——" Rising mirth interrupted her, then suddenly her face grew serious, and she glanced down at her side. Following her eyes, the doctor was startled to see the prostrate figure of a man. Looking back at the girl, he noticed for the first time that her dress was torn at the shoulder, and the earth ground into the sleeve.
"What's the matter?" he asked sharply. "Have you had an accident?"
The girl threw out her hands with a pretty, deprecating gesture.
"Oh, hardly that—my father and I were driving, and as we went over this rut, the hind-axle broke and let us down. Father was thrown against that tree."
Dr. Wentworth stared. "I should be inclined to call that an accident," he remarked drily. "Is your father hurt?"
Cold-blooded indifference in such an apparently charming girl jarred upon him disagreeably. He leaped to the ground and tied his horse to a sapling; then he turned to the girl, who was watching him with a peculiar expression.
"He is not hurt," she said, with a touch of impatience in her voice and an imperceptible movement of her body, as if to oppose the examination. "You are very kind, but we do not need any assistance. I have sent a farmer-boy for a trap."
The doctor coldly disregarded the hint of her words and walked over to the prostrate man, who was spare and grey and elderly; he was lying on his back, and his face was ashen. Now and then a groan was forced from between his blue lips.
"Are you in pain?" asked the doctor, bending over him.
The man emitted a quavering groan. "There is no such thing as pain," he gasped brokenly.
A horrible suspicion threw a pale light into Wentworth's mind. Still stooping, he swung around to the girl, who was watching him with cold hostility.
"Once or twice he has thought he was suffering," she remarked in a superior voice, "but that was only a passing weakness. We do not admit the possibility of pain or disability, and just at your ill-timed arrival I had succeeded in convincing my father that his condition was perfectly normal."
Wentworth's skilled fingers were making a hasty examination of limb and body. After the first shock, the horrible truth had filled him cold disgust which even the physical beauty of the girl at his elbow was powerless to modify. Presently he turned to her, and there was a note in his voice that brought the blood into her cheeks.
"If his normal condition consists of a smashed collar-bone and an arm broken in two places, with incidentally a sprained ankle thrown in, your idea is fairly accurate. Personally I have my doubts. That ankle must be giving him the very deuce, to judge from his general condition."
The girl drew herself up haughtily. Wentworth rose to his feet and looked her over with a cold and curious eye. She was undeniably beautiful, and a lady; but although Wentworth possessed a chivalry almost Quixotic in character, he felt for the moment that nothing would do him so much good as to seize her rounded shoulders in his strong surgeon's hands, and shake her until the big coil of red air tumbled about her face and her pearly teeth rattled in her silly little head.
The girl surveyed him with a look of calm superiority.
"I think," she remarked, "that if, instead of referring in a vulgar way to an entirely mythical power of evil, we were to unite in prayer, it would prove of the greatest benefit to my poor suff——" she checked herself, colouring—"misguided father."
Wentworth stared at her in speechless wrath, compressing his lips to restrain the flood of forceful and, it is to be feared, profane expressions that were struggling to escape. At that moment, happening to glance past the girl, he caught sight of a country buggy ditched a few rods down the road.
"Is that your buggy?" he asked.
"Yes," said the girl shortly.
"Perhaps I can patch it up, so that we can use it to drive your father to the next farm-house. My cart would jolt him too much, and I am afraid might change his views in regard to the abstract existence of pain."
"There is no such thing as pain! Oh! my ankle!" quavered the wounded man. Wentworth looked at the girl and hoped that he saw a faint indication of distress in her long, grey eyes.
"You would not be able to mend the buggy, I am afraid," she remarked less haughtily. "The axle is broken in two."
"Suppose you go and pray over it while I am putting a splint on your father's arm," suggested Wentworth. "You might get it to knit by the time I got through. There's no reason why it shouldn't work just as well on the axle as on a bone!"
A suspicious quiver was apparent at the corners of the girl's mouth. Her face grew slightly pale.
"Will you kindly leave us?" she remarked with dignity.
"No," said Wentworth bluntly, "I won't."
The girl clenched her small hands. "I command you to go!" she exclaimed, stamping her little foot passionately.
"I decline to obey," said Wentworth calmly.
For a moment she glared at him with such a vindictive look that he almost thought she was going to strike him. Wentworth stared back sternly, without taking his eyes from hers. A groan came from the prostrate man, and at the sound the girl suddenly wheeled and, placing both her graceful forearms against the trunk of the great tree, rested her forehead on them and burst into a wild storm of tears.
Wentworth hesitated; then, whipping out his heavy clasp-knife, split a small sapling and cut three splints. Kneeling by the father, he gently loosed his collar and cravat and with the aid of his handkerchief and that of the wounded man, proceeded to immobilise the fractured arm. Soon the girl's sobs ceased, and, glancing over his shoulder as he worked, Wentworth saw that she was watching him fixedly.
"Go over and look under the seat of my cart, and you will find a flask in the pocket of my overcoat," he said, without turning his head; "mix a little brandy and water in the cover and give him a drink. His pulse is very bad!"
There was a moment's pause; then he heard a rustle behind him, and glancing covertly back, saw that his order was being obeyed.
Together they raised the sufferer's head and gave him to drink, and Wentworth noticed, with an inward grin, a feeble but gratified smack as the last swallow passed his lips, and a look of more than appreciation for the stimulant. A faint twinkle appeared in the mild, blue eye as the patient's head fell back on the moss.
"Get my overcoat out of the cart and spread it over him," commanded Wentworth, as he drew the edge of his knife along the lacing of the old gentleman's shoe. Again the order was immediately carried out.
Having treated the ankle to his satisfaction with such means as he had at hand, and disposed the patient as comfortably as possible, Wentworth turned to the girl.
"Thank you very much," he said. "You have been of a great deal of service; in fact, I wouldn't ask for a better assistant—and—and—now, if there is anything else that you would like to try—a hymn, you know, or anything like that——" He hesitated, for an ominous glitter was growing in the girl's eye.
"There is no such thing as pain!" came more confidently from the ground. "My ankle doesn't hurt me as much—hem—that is to say, I do not think—er—young man, do you happen to have any more of that stimulant? It—er—appears to strengthen my faith."
Wentworth looked at him with a slight quiver about his mouth. A faint colour had crept into the pallid cheeks, and as he met Wentworth's look, there was just the suspicion of a flicker in the upper lid of the left eye.
"Certainly," said Wentworth encouragingly. He turned to the daughter. "Give him another drin—er—that is, let us repeat the stimulant." The girl obeyed in an ominous calm, and Wentworth noticed that she seemed to avoid his eye. As she was filling the flask-cover from the little rill at the side of the road, the rattle of wheels suddenly broke in upon them. The doctor looked up and saw a smart, two-seated buckboard drawn by a pair of handsome but rather heavy greys. On the back seat were two elderly ladies. Suddenly one of them leaned forward and emitted a somewhat discordant cry of recognition.
"Why, Honoria!" she called; then to the coachman: "Stop, Johnson!"
The coachman checked the pair's momentum; the girl, flask in hand, rose to her feet.
"Why, Honoria!" cried the lady; "what are you doing here? Where is your father? What is that you have in your hand? A flask? Whatever has happened?"
The doctor looked at the lady with interest. She was tall and somewhat angular, with decided features which showed traces of a beauty almost effaced by the indulgence of varying hysterical convictions. Just then her expression was one which went to inspire a defensive attitude on the part of the beholder. Beside her sat a woman of similar age, with a set of features which seemed perpetually at odds with themselves.
From the ladies the doctor looked at the girl. Her expression hardly seemed to indicate the pleasure or relief which the meeting might have been expected to produce.
"Father is up there in the bushes," replied the girl a little defiantly, as though she feared criticism for keeping a father in such a place. "We broke down and were thrown out. There is the buggy farther on," she added, with somewhat the air of the Russian driver who throws the lap-robe to temporarily divert the attention of a pursuing pack of wolves.
"Is your father hurt? And whose trap is that?" (indicating the dog-cart).
"There is no such thing as pain!" came a decided voice from the bushes.
The lady descended hastily and stepped over to where the sufferer lay. At sight of the doctor she paused, then her piercing eye swept the recumbent figure of her husband with strong disfavour.
"Honoria!" she cried austerely, "who is this person with your father? But first throw that nasty bottle in the ditch!"
The girl hesitated, and the doctor came to her aid.
"My name is Livingston Wentworth, madam. I am a surgeon. And as I was driving past——"
"A surgeon! And you have dared to swathe my husband's free limbs in your odious sticks and rubbish? Remove them at once, sir! Eliphalet, I am amazed at you! Get on your feet at once, sir! Honoria, how could you permit of such vandalism?" She made a movement towards her husband, but the doctor firmly but gently interposed his six feet of stalwart manhood. The amused expression had left his face, which was very grave.
"Pardon me, madam," he said; "but I am afraid you do not understand. Your husband's arm and collar-bone are broken, and he is suffering——"
"There is no such thing as pain!" came dismally from the ground. "Ouch!"
For a moment the lady glared at the doctor with a set but wrathful face.
"Remove those bandages at once, sir!"
"I shall do nothing of the sort. I tell you the man is all smashed up." Amazement and disgust were giving way to positive anger.
There was a moment's pause while the lady and the doctor remained deadlocked in a silent and motionless strife. The lady turned to the coachman.
"Johnson, come here this minute!"
The coachman, whose well-trained impassivity of countenance was giving way to an expression of uncomfortable interest, saluted and wriggled uneasily upon his seat.
"Beggin' your pardon, ma'am, I daren't leave the 'osses, ma'am." The greys were dozing apathetically.
"Come here at once!" in a slightly higher and somewhat strident key.
With ostentatious care the coachman wrapped the reins about the whip and reluctantly descended.
"Remove this person!" ordered his mistress, indicating the doctor with a contemptuous nod.
The coachman approached with some misgiving. A look of positive relief spread over the doctor's face, but there was a set look about his jaw and a gleam in his blue eyes that did not escape the observant Johnson.
"You wouldn't 'ave me lay 'ands on a gentleman, ma'am!" he protested weakly.
"I believe you heard me order you to remove this person!"
The coachman shifted his weight to the other foot. The doctor smiled wickedly.
"Johnson," he remarked suavely, "there is no such thing as pain; but if you attempt to interfere with me or my patient, you will need a course of absent treatment for the next six weeks before you are fit for service again."
"I think the 'osses are going to start, ma'am," said the perturbed coachman, springing to the heads of the dozing greys.
There was a somewhat embarrassing pause for a moment; then Honoria stepped quietly to her mother's side.
"Mamma, the doctor is right! I think that we had better move papa just as he is, without disturbing the dressings "
"Yes, yes, Patience," exclaimed the prostrate Eliphalet. "Get me home and abed; then, after the—er—anatomical relations are properly—er—adjusted, you may treat me to your own excellent methods. At present I am in a great deal of—er—excitement, and do not feel equal to any more—er—manipulations!"
The mother surveyed with mingled expression the different members of the party; and when her eyes finally came back to her helpless spouse, there were tears in them—whether of vexation or sympathy, the doctor was unable to determine; nor did he much care, if the truth were known.
"Very well," she said at length in the voice of a martyr. "Since my own flesh and blood, and even my hired servants, will not support me, I am obliged to submit, I suppose; but it is under protest—the strongest protest!" She turned to the doctor. "I shall refer the matter to my son, sir!"
The doctor bowed, striving to hide an expression of gratification.
"Johnson," he called, "come here and help me to put your master in the carriage—that is, if you dare leave the pair," he added maliciously.
A modest cough from the ground drew his attention. Looking at the injured man, he thought that he caught once more that almost imperceptible flutter of the eyelid. A large experience of mankind for one so young suggested something to his mind: he turned boldly to the wife and mother.
"Madam, since you have so considerately permitted my profane system of treatment to prevail in the present case, I will carry it out further, to the extent of prescribing for the patient a dose of the orthodox stimulant before he is moved." He turned to the girl. "Will you kindly hand me my flask?"
In an aggrieved silence a heroic dose of the medicine indicated was poured out and given to the patient, who received it with sad but unprotesting fortitude. This done, the doctor reinforced the dressings and rigged an improvised sling, after which the unfortunate Eliphalet, with many facial contortions, was tenderly bestowed in the carriage. The wife placed herself at his side, and, the woman in her triumphing over the theorist, rested his pale face upon her shoulder. The other elderly lady took the front seat.
"Honoria," commanded the mother, "get in front."
The doctor made a dissenting gesture.
"It would not be safe," he declared. "Johnson would be too crowded to have perfect control of his horses. If you will permit me," turning to the girl, "it will give me great pleasure to drive you home in my cart." He turned to the coachman. "Rather crowded, aren't you, Johnson?"
A fleeting look of intelligence crossed the well-ordered features.
"Oh, werry, sir—more particular as the pair is a bit skittish, 'avin' stood so long in the stable."
"You see," remarked the doctor, "we will follow close behind you. All right, Johnson—drive on."
A rising protest from the back seat was snapped short by a quick tug at the traces. The doctor gently drew the bewildered girl aside, and the vehicle passed on. As they stood in the road, the girl and the man looked at one another. Mingled emotions were struggling in the pretty face, but the doctor's was gravely respectful.
The carriage swung smartly around a bend. Above the thud of the horses' feet on the hard-packed turf there suddenly arose another and odder sound. They listened in amazement, for with the rhythm of the hoofs came the quavering, uncertain air in thin, but cheerful tones, of a popular drinking song.
For a moment they gazed at one another in silence, the doctor making heroic efforts to maintain his expression of polite concern.
Suddenly the girl sank back against the bank, and the next moment the woods were ringing with peal after peal of irrepressible laughter.
A high English dog-cart drawn by a roadwise hunter was bowling along a winding drive through the woods. A hunter is the most sagacious of horses, and this horse was the wisest of hunters, as was evidenced by the painstaking way in which he kept his eyes on the road ahead and carefully avoided rocks and holes.
As if to demonstrate what he could do when he really cared to try, the hunter shied violently, throwing Honoria almost into the doctor's arms.
"Intelligent animal!" commented the doctor. "He always shies here. He remembers how you startled him the day we first met."
"Ah, yes," murmured the girl softly; "I shall never forget——" She paused.
"Forget what?" asked the doctor encouragingly.
"How funny you looked, holding the reins and sailing through the air so gracefully. You reminded me of one of the cupids in the 'Aurora' of Guido Reni!"
The doctor surveyed her with dignified reproach.
"It might have been very serious. If I had happened to land on the wheel when I came down, instead of the seat——"
"That would have been funnier still! You would have looked like Fortuna—or a circus-poster!"
The doctor looked at her with mingled emotions.
"You looked like a siren," he remarked, and added severely: "and behaved like one, too. I don't know that I have ever come so near to being lured to my destruction; and when the fairy tale got to the approach of the fiery——"
"Don't you dare call mamma a dragon!"
"I wasn't. I was going to say 'steeds,' when you——"
"You don't deserve to have a——"
"Mother-in-law! I know it. But Johnson believes in me. He asked me to look at one of the horses' legs yesterday and——"
"How silly you are! Papa swears by you, and many of mamma's friends are beginning to——"
"Swear of me. Yes—but they wouldn't if they knew how miserably unhappy I am!"
"Nonsense! I don't believe it! Really?" The fresh young face was turned an imperceptible angle in his direction.
"Yes," dejectedly. "There really is not much for me to live for. I have not told anyone, but I am going away!"
"Going away—where?" she cried.
"For a walk—in the woods probably. I want to try and see if I can conjure up in my imagination how I must have looked when Heather shied and——"
"Take me home, if you please. I do not think I care to go any farther to-day."
"There s a bit of a chill in the air. I think that if we were to sit a little closer——"
"Will you be so good as to turn around?"
"Don't dare. I'm afraid of upsetting, and breaking my collar-bone and arm and spraining my ankle. I've got an idea of what might happen—what! Oh, I say—oh, I am a brute!"
The little head with its mass of red-gold hair was as far from him as the narrow seat would permit. The rounded shoulders were rising and falling convulsively, and the grey eyes were buried in a tiny handkerchief.
"Oh, I say—Miss Hampton!—oh, by George——" The doctor groaned in anguish and felt that he would like to throw the loop of the reins about his neck and be dragged in the dust behind the cart. Then suddenly a better idea came to him, like an inspiration. He slid one arm along the back of the seat. The intelligent hunter slowed into a walk.
The girl sat up and turned to him suddenly.
"Don't take it so to heart, Dr. Wentworth but every once in a while, when I think of how you looked—— Sir!"
"Darling!"
"You are insolent!"
"You are an angel!"
"Turn around this minute and take me home!"
The doctor gathered up the reins.
"Do you think you can turn without upsetting?" timidly.
"Perhaps—if you get away over on this side?"
"Perhaps we had better keep straight on."
"I think so. These crooked paths are very dangerous."
She looked at him askance, but his face was entirely grave.
"What do you mean by speaking to me as you did just now?"
"Do you really want to know?"
The doctor dropped his voice—and the maiden dropped her head—and the next moment the intelligent but misguided hunter started suddenly, for his patrician, pointed ears had caught a familiar sound.
"But you are still a Philistine," she pleaded.
"No, dear; I am a convert. There is no such thing as pain!" replied the doctor with an air of thorough conviction.
This work is in the public domain in the United States because it was published before January 1, 1929.
The longest-living author of this work died in 1933, so this work is in the public domain in countries and areas where the copyright term is the author's life plus 90 years or less. This work may be in the public domain in countries and areas with longer native copyright terms that apply the rule of the shorter term to foreign works.
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