The Pulaski citizen. [volume] (Pulaski, Tenn.) 1866-current, 1886-05-20
A LITTLE DARK DOCTOR.

and Ladislaw said must go with him;
but it was necessary that he should
travel with physician who would watch
the varieties of his pulse, and friend
introduced him to the @little dark doc
tor" as Ladislaw described him to me,
who, having been overworked himself,
needed vacation. On my part had
my chaperon, to be sure-a widow, not
too old, and not too frivolous, who knew
how to be blind at discretion, and who
was at the same time so dreadfully near
sighted that she could hardly distinguish
a Irritation from a quarrel, and who,
moreover, never made her appearance
on deck after the first day during the
whole voyage. 1 found the doctor a
a great convenience, you may be sure.
Ladislaw said one would suppose 1 was
his patient; but Ladislaw always exag-
gerated a little about such things. Our
passage was long and rough, and heaven
only knows what l should done but for
the little dark doctor! If 1 wanted an
extra wrap-and one always does on
shipboard-or a book, or my chair
moved, he was at hand. He read to me
on calm days, he sang to me little Span
ish and Italian ballads on moonlight
nights; he beguiled me with anecdotes
of his profession when we sat upon deck
in a heavy swell, with our chairs lashed
to the house, and the spray driving over
Us-that is, unless Mr.. Finch, the
I English Gentleman who made our
acquaintance through Ladislaw
stole a march upon him and erected
canopy over my head with his umbrella
and macintosh, or gave me his arm for
a promenade on the tipsy deck. The
doctor, however, lavished his attentions
upon me with an air which made one
sensible that he would do as much for
any woman-kind who happened to be in
| his way; that there was nothing personal
or particular in his devotion. Perhaps
OWNED his feeling from the perfect ease
with which he made himself at home
with me, as if 1 were merely a compan-
ionable cousin or other indifferent femi-
nine relative. Shall 1 ever forget the
pitch-black night-"a very Walpurgis
night" the doctor had said, earlier
when the engine stopped suddenly, like
tired out heart, ON the Irish coast, and
all the gentlemen came tearing up from
the card-room, and the ladies, in all de-
gree of toilettes, from their state-rooms.
| forgetful of seasickness or appearances;
and l. with sudden visions of shipwreck
| in that plunging sea, with the hustle of
launching lfe-boats and the terror of
being swung into one, and possibly drop
ping between the two, rising before me
like spectral scene,' tainted outright
upon the deck, and walked to find myself
in the doctors arms in the saloon?
you thought this was the end of the
world p he said, smiling as only the
dark doctor could SMILE
Il fancy that 1 am dead-and damnedl"
1 answered. laughing Historically,
He dropped me upon the sofa and
turned away. "They stopped to take
soundings," he said. 1T is nothing.
You had better go to bed"
do you charge much for your advice?"
I asked. "Well, good night. 1 hope we
may not meet in the life-boat."
One day in London, when we were
walking through the dim old cloisters at !
the abbey, and trying to spell out the |
names of the dusty dead on the worn |
pavement, having left Ladislaw and Mrs. |
Adams still incoming in the poets cor |
ner, the doctor said:
You were a little frightened that |
night on the Irish coast. To tell the |
TRUTH small pipe in the engine broke; |
but there was no real danger, suspect"
"And you were not frightened at all, |
knowing this?"
Il? We would all go together, you
know. You company would be as pleas
ant in heaven as on shipboard."
"Equivocal-but thank you. AS for
me, like to choose my company, not |
have it thrust upon me-"
"Yes?" he said, indiffePently. "Whose
company would you select?n
II would select an artist, or must
clan, or perhaps poet"
Il see. In heaven they need no doc
tors"
Nor on earth either, generally speak
ing" And then 1 impertinently repeated |
to him the little German legend of the
doctor to whom Death paid visit one
day, and who, begging to defer the debt
of nature, offered to divide all his future
patients with the king of terrors; and SO
engrossed we've we with this pastime
that we barely escaped being locked into
the abbey.
"You do not think well of the profess
sion," he said.
"Oh, don't L? But, honestly, do you
think yourself that the one who volun-
tarily elects to live in the constant sight
of disease and suffering can have sensi-
tive or aesthetic nature? And 1 love the
esthetic!"
He did not answer, but looked at the
yellow horn of the new moon, making a
rift in the fog, which the sunset light
family tinged, while 1 looked at him.
There was certainly nothing aesthetic
about the doctor, if you except his triste
mustache and his general shapeliness.
remember once, in Holland, as we
steamed in little packet to Zaandam,
and counted the windmills and the cot
tage roofs that appeared to grow up be-
hind the dikes, that he, happening to
speak of himself, remarked that he had
been mistaken sometimes for a Span
lard.
"Yes, you are dark enough to be the
shadow of somebody else" said.
And your ideal is blonde hero" he
returned.
"How well you know my idealsi" 1
answered. Like Bobby Shafto, fat and
fair, cOmbing down his yellow ;sir'-of
lofty stature. am certain Bobby was
tall Fhe d9et9F was incontestably
But the best things are ia the smallest
parcels" said Mrs. Adams, coming to
the rescue.
What quaint old place we found
Zaandam, where Peter the Great has left
an odor of romance that seemed to
cling to the little green cottages with
their red-tiled roofs, which resembled
the wooden villages Of our infancys
And how the doctor scowled when
wasted my substance on some vivid
green pottery of an old pattern!
whats the use buying such trashY'
he asked.
"Ah, the aesthetic taste lacking. You
call this waste; but yea dent under
stand the art OF economy This green
dish, that looks as if it were deformed,
and that cost me exactly cents, VIII
look so foreign and fantastic in the
garish light of America that my friends
SFaY,a 3, |