But Doctor Kimble (country apothecaries in old days enjoyed that title without authority of diploma), being a thin and agile man, was flitting about the room with his hands in his pockets, making himself agreeable to his feminine patients, with medical impartiality, and being welcomed everywhere as a doctor by hereditary right--not one of those miserable apothecaries who canvass for practice in strange neighbourhoods, and spend all their income in starving their one horse, but a man of substance, able to keep an extravagant table like the best of his patients.Time out of mind the Raveloe doctor had been a Kimble; Kimble was inherently a doctor's name; and it was difficult to contemplate firmly the melancholy fact that the actual Kimble had no son, so that his practice might one day be handed over to a successor with the incongruous name of Taylor or Johnson.But in that case the wiser people in Raveloe would employ Dr.Blick of Flitton--as less unnatural.
"Did you speak to me, my dear?" said the authentic doctor, coming quickly to his wife's side; but, as if foreseeing that she would be too much out of breath to repeat her remark, he went on immediately--"Ha, Miss Priscilla, the sight of you revives the taste of that super-excellent pork-pie.I hope the batch isn't near an end.""Yes, indeed, it is, doctor," said Priscilla; "but I'll answer for it the next shall be as good.My pork-pies don't turn out well by chance.""Not as your doctoring does, eh, Kimble?--because folks forget to take your physic, eh?" said the Squire, who regarded physic and doctors as many loyal churchmen regard the church and the clergy--tasting a joke against them when he was in health, but impatiently eager for their aid when anything was the matter with him.He tapped his box, and looked round with a triumphant laugh.
"Ah, she has a quick wit, my friend Priscilla has," said the doctor, choosing to attribute the epigram to a lady rather than allow a brother-in-law that advantage over him."She saves a little pepper to sprinkle over her talk--that's the reason why she never puts too much into her pies.There's my wife now, she never has an answer at her tongue's end; but if I offend her, she's sure to scarify my throat with black pepper the next day, or else give me the colic with watery greens.That's an awful tit-for-tat." Here the vivacious doctor made a pathetic grimace.
"Did you ever hear the like?" said Mrs.Kimble, laughing above her double chin with much good-humour, aside to Mrs.Crackenthorp, who blinked and nodded, and seemed to intend a smile, which, by the correlation of forces, went off in small twitchings and noises.
"I suppose that's the sort of tit-for-tat adopted in your profession, Kimble, if you've a grudge against a patient," said the rector.
"Never do have a grudge against our patients," said Mr.Kimble, "except when they leave us: and then, you see, we haven't the chance of prescribing for 'em.Ha, Miss Nancy," he continued, suddenly skipping to Nancy's side, "you won't forget your promise?
You're to save a dance for me, you know.""Come, come, Kimble, don't you be too for'ard," said the Squire.
"Give the young uns fair-play.There's my son Godfrey'll be wanting to have a round with you if you run off with Miss Nancy.
He's bespoke her for the first dance, I'll be bound.Eh, sir! what do you say?" he continued, throwing himself backward, and looking at Godfrey."Haven't you asked Miss Nancy to open the dance with you?"Godfrey, sorely uncomfortable under this significant insistence about Nancy, and afraid to think where it would end by the time his father had set his usual hospitable example of drinking before and after supper, saw no course open but to turn to Nancy and say, with as little awkwardness as possible--"No; I've not asked her yet, but I hope she'll consent--if somebody else hasn't been before me.""No, I've not engaged myself," said Nancy, quietly, though blushingly.(If Mr.Godfrey founded any hopes on her consenting to dance with him, he would soon be undeceived; but there was no need for her to be uncivil.)"Then I hope you've no objections to dancing with me," said Godfrey, beginning to lose the sense that there was anything uncomfortable in this arrangement.
"No, no objections," said Nancy, in a cold tone.
"Ah, well, you're a lucky fellow, Godfrey," said uncle Kimble;"but you're my godson, so I won't stand in your way.Else I'm not so very old, eh, my dear?" he went on, skipping to his wife's side again."You wouldn't mind my having a second after you were gone--not if I cried a good deal first?"
"Come, come, take a cup o' tea and stop your tongue, do," said good-humoured Mrs.Kimble, feeling some pride in a husband who must be regarded as so clever and amusing by the company generally.If he had only not been irritable at cards!
While safe, well-tested personalities were enlivening the tea in this way, the sound of the fiddle approaching within a distance at which it could be heard distinctly, made the young people look at each other with sympathetic impatience for the end of the meal.
"Why, there's Solomon in the hall," said the Squire, "and playing my fav'rite tune, _I_ believe--"The flaxen-headed ploughboy"--he's for giving us a hint as we aren't enough in a hurry to hear him play.Bob," he called out to his third long-legged son, who was at the other end of the room, "open the door, and tell Solomon to come in.He shall give us a tune here."Bob obeyed, and Solomon walked in, fiddling as he walked, for he would on no account break off in the middle of a tune.
"Here, Solomon," said the Squire, with loud patronage."Round here, my man.Ah, I knew it was "The flaxen-headed ploughboy":
there's no finer tune."
