Japhet in Search of a Father Part 2

Timothy and I laughed as we divided the sixpence. It appeared that after taking his allowance of whisky, the poor fellow fixed the plaster on his back when he went to bed, and the next morning found himself in a condition not to be envied. It was a week before we saw him again, and much to the horror of Timothy and myself, he walked into the shop when Mr Brookes was employed behind the counter. Timothy perceived him before he saw us, and pulling me behind the large mortar, we contrived to make our escape into the back parlour, the door of which we held ajar to hear what would take place.

"Murder and turf!" cried the man; "but that was the devil's own plaster that you gave me here for my back, and it left me as raw as a turnip, taking every bit of my skin off me entirely, forebye my lying in bed for a whole week, and losing my day's work."

"I ready do not recollect supplying you with a plaster, my good man,"

replied Mr Brookes.

"Then, by the piper that played before Moses, if you don't recollect it, I've an idea that I shall never forget it. Sure enough, it cured me, but wasn't I quite kilt before I was cured?"

"It must have been some other shop," observed Mr Brookes. "You have made a mistake."

"Devil a bit of mistake, except in selling me the plaster. Didn't I get it of a lad in this same shop?"

"n.o.body sells things out of this shop without my knowledge."

The Irishman was puzzled--he looked round the shop. "Well, then, if this a'n't the shop, it was own sister to it."

"Timothy," called Mr Brookes.

"And sure enough there was a Timothy in the other shop, for I heard the boy call the other by the name; however, it's no matter if it took off the skin, it also took away the thumbago, so the morning to you, Mr Pottykary."

When the Irishman departed, we made our appearance. "j.a.phet, did you sell a plaster to an Irishman?"

"Yes--don't you recollect, last Sat.u.r.day? and I gave you the s.h.i.+lling."

"Very true; but what did he ask for?"

"He asked for a plaster, but he was very tipsy. I showed him a blister, and he took it;" and then I looked at Timothy and laughed.

"You must not play such tricks," said Mr Brookes. "I see what you have been about--it was a joke to you, but not to him."

Mr Brookes, who imagined we had sold it to the Irishman out of fun, then gave us a very severe lecture, and threatened to acquaint Mr Cophagus if ever we played such tricks again. Thus the affair blew over, and it made me very careful; and, as every day I knew more about medicines, I was soon able to mix them, so as to be of service to those who applied, and before eighteen months had expired, I was trusted with the mixing up of all the prescriptions. At the end of that period Mr Brookes left us, and I took the whole of his department upon myself, giving great satisfaction to Mr Cophagus.

And now that I have announced my promotion, it will perhaps be as well that I give the reader some idea of my personal appearance, upon which I have hitherto been silent. I was thin, between fifteen and sixteen years old, very tall for my age, and of my figure I had no reason to be ashamed; a large beaming eye, with a slightly aquiline nose, a high forehead, fair in complexion, but with _very_ dark hair. I was always what may be termed a remarkably clean-looking boy, from the peculiarity of my skin and complexion; my teeth were small, but were transparent, and I had a very deep dimple in my chin. Like all embryo apothecaries, I carried in my appearance, if not the look of wisdom, most certainly that of self-sufficiency, which does equally well with the world in general. My forehead was smooth, and very white, and my dark locks were combed back systematically, and with a regularity that said, as plainly as hair could do, "The owner of this does everything by prescription, measurement, and rule." With my long fingers I folded up the little packets, with an air as thoughtful and imposing as that of a minister who has just presented a protocol as interminable as unintelligible; and the look of solemn sagacity with which I poured out the contents of one vial into the other, would have well become the king's physician, when he watched the "lord's anointed" in _articulo mortis_.

As I followed up my saturnine avocation, I generally had an open book on the counter beside me; not a marble-covered dirty volume, from the Minerva press, or a half-bound, half-guinea's worth of fas.h.i.+onable trash, but a good, honest, heavy-looking, wisdom-implying book, horribly stuffed with epithet of drug; a book in which Latin words were redundant, and here and there were to be observed the crabbed characters of Greek. Altogether, with my book and my look, I cut such a truly medical appearance, that even the most guarded would not have hesitated to allow me the sole conduct of a whitlow, from inflammation to suppuration, and from suppuration to cure, or have refused to have confided to me the entire suppression of a gumboil. Such were my personal qualifications at the time that I was raised to the important office of dispenser of, I may say, life and death.

It will not surprise the reader when I tell him that I was much noticed by those who came to consult, or talk with, Mr Cophagus. "A very fine looking lad that, Mr Cophagus," an acquaintance would say. "Where did you get him--who is his father?"

"Father!" Mr Cophagus would reply, when they had gained the back parlour, but I could overhear him, "father, um--can't tell--love-- concealment--child born--Foundling Hospital--put out--and so on."

This was constantly occurring, and the constant occurrence made me often reflect upon my condition, which otherwise I might, from the happy and even tenor of my life, have forgotten. When I retired to my bed I would revolve in my mind all that I had gained from the governors of the hospital relative to myself.--The paper found in the basket had been given to me. I was born in wedlock--at least, so said that paper. The sum left with me also proved that my parents could not, at my birth, have been paupers. The very peculiar circ.u.mstances attending my case, only made me more anxious to know my parentage. I was now old enough to be aware of the value of birth, and I was also just entering the age of romance, and many were the strange and absurd reveries in which I indulged. At one time I would cherish the idea that I was of a n.o.ble, if not princely birth, and frame reasons for concealment. At others-- but it is useless to repeat the absurdities and castle buildings which were generated in my brain from mystery. My airy fabrics would at last disappear, and leave me in all the misery of doubt and abandoned hope.

Mr Cophagus, when the question was sometimes put to him, would say, "Good boy--very good boy--don't want a father." But he was wrong, I did want a father, and every day the want became more pressing, and I found myself continually repeating the question, "_Who is my father_?"

PART ONE, CHAPTER FOUR.

VERY MUCH PUZZLED WITH A NEW PATIENT, NEVERTHELESS TAKE MY DEGREE AT FIFTEEN AS AN M.D.; AND WHAT IS STILL MORE ACCEPTABLE, I POCKET THE FEES.

The departure of Mr Brookes, of course, rendered me more able to follow up with Timothy my little professional attempts to procure pocket-money; but independent of these pillages by the aid of pills, and making drafts upon our master's legitimate profits, by the a.s.sistance of draughts from his shop, accident shortly enabled me to raise the ways and means in a more rapid manner. But of this directly.

In the mean time I was fast gaining knowledge; every evening I read surgical and medical books, put into my hands by Mr Cophagus, who explained whenever I applied to him, and I soon obtained a very fair smattering of my profession. He also taught me how to bleed, by making me, in the first instance, puncture very scientifically all the larger veins of a cabbage-leaf, until well satisfied with the delicacy of my hand, and the precision of my eye, he wound up his instructions by permitting me to breathe a vein in his own arm.

"Well," said Timothy, when he first saw me practising, "I have often heard it said, there's no getting blood out of a turnip; but it seems there is more chance with a cabbage. I tell you what, j.a.phet, you may try your hand upon me as much as you please, for two-pence a go."

I consented to this arrangement, and by dint of practising on Timothy over and over again, I became quite perfect. I should here observe, that my anxiety relative to my birth increased every day, and that in one of the books lent me by Mr Cophagus, there was a dissertation upon the human frame, sympathies, antipathies, and also on those features and peculiarities most likely to descend from one generation to another. It was there a.s.serted, that the _nose_ was the facial feature most likely to be transmitted from father to son. As I before have mentioned, my nose was rather aquiline; and after I had read this book, it was surprising with what eagerness I examined the faces of those whom I met; and if I saw a nose upon any man's face, at all resembling my own, I immediately would wonder and surmise whether that person could be my father. The constant dwelling upon the subject at last created a species of monomania, and a hundred times a day I would mutter to myself, "_Who is my father_?" indeed, the very bells, when they rung a peal, seemed, as in the case of Whittington, to chime the question, and at last I talked so much on the subject to Timothy, who was my _Fidus Achate_, and bosom friend, that I really believe, partial as he was to me, he wished my father at the devil.

Our shop was well appointed with all that glare and glitter with which we decorate the "_house of call_" of disease and death. Being situated in such a thoroughfare, pa.s.sengers would stop to look in, and ragged-vested, and in other garments still more ragged, little boys would stand to stare at the variety of colours, and the 'pottecary gentleman, your humble servant, who presided over so many labelled-in-gold phalanxes which decorated the sides of the shop.

Among those who always stopped and gazed as she pa.s.sed by, which was generally three or four times a day, was a well-dressed female, apparently about forty years of age, straight as an arrow, with an elasticity of step, and a decision in her manner of walking, which was almost masculine, although her form, notwithstanding that it was tall and thin, was extremely feminine and graceful. Sometimes she would fix her eyes upon me, and there was a wildness in her looks, which certainly gave a painful impression, and at the same time so fascinated me, that when I met her gaze, the paper which contained the powder remained unfolded, and the arm which was pouring out the liquid suspended.

She was often remarked by Timothy, as well as me; and we further observed, that her step was not equal throughout the day. In her latter peregrinations, towards the evening, her gait was more vigorous, but unequal, at the same time that her gaze was more steadfast. She usually pa.s.sed the shop for the last time each day about five o'clock in the afternoon.

One evening, after we had watched her past, as we supposed, to return no more till the ensuing morning, for this peeping in, on her part, had become an expected occurrence, and afforded much amus.e.m.e.nt to Timothy, who designated her as the "mad woman," to our great surprise, and to the alarm of Timothy, who sprang over the counter, and took a position by my side, she walked into the shop. Her eye appeared wild, as usual, but I could not make out that it was insanity. I recovered my self-possession, and desired Timothy to hand the lady a chair, begging to know in what way I could be useful. Timothy walked round by the end of the counter, pushed a chair near to her, and then made a hasty retreat to his former position. She declined the chair with a motion of her hand, in which there was much dignity, as well as grace, and placing upon the counter her hands, which were small and beautifully white, she bent forwards towards me, and said, in a sweet, low voice, which actually startled me by its depth of melody, "I am very ill."

My astonishment increased. Why, I know not, because the exceptions are certainly as many as the general rule, we always form an estimate of the voice before we hear it, from the outward appearance of the speaker; and when I looked up in her face, which was now exposed to the glare of the argand lamp, and witnessed the cadaverous, pale, chalky expression on it, and the crow's feet near the eyes, and wrinkles on her forehead, I should have sooner expected to have heard a burst of heavenly symphony from a thundercloud, than such music as issued from her parted lips.

"Good heavens, madam!" said I eagerly and respectfully, "allow me to send for Mr Cophagus."

"By no means," replied she. "I come to you. I am aware," continued she in an undertone, "that you dispense medicines, give advice, and receive money yourself."

I felt very much agitated, and the blush of detection mounted up to my forehead. Timothy, who heard what she said, showed his uneasiness in a variety of grotesque ways. He drew up his legs alternately, as if he were dancing on hot plates; he slapped his pockets, grinned, clenched his fists, ground his teeth, and bit his lips till he made the blood come. At last he sidled up to me, "She has been peeping and s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g those eyes of hers into this shop for something. It is all up with both of us, unless you can buy her off."

"I have, madam," said I, at last, "ventured to prescribe in some trivial cases, and, as you say, receive money when my master is not here; but I am entrusted with the till."

"I know--I know--you need not fear me. You are too modest. What I would request is, that you would prescribe for me, as I have no great opinion of your master's talents."

"If you wish it, madam," said I, bowing respectfully.

"You have camphor julep ready made up, have you not?"

"Yes, madam," replied I.

"Then do me the favour to send the boy with a bottle to my house directly." I handed down the bottle, she paid for it, and putting it into Timothy's hands, desired him to take it to the direction which she gave him. Timothy put on his hat, c.o.c.ked his eye at me, and left us alone.

"What is your name?" said she, in the same melodious voice.

"j.a.phet Newland, madam," replied I.

"j.a.phet--it is a good, a scriptural name," said the lady, musing in half soliloquy, "Newland--that sounds of mammon."

"This mystery is unravelled," thought I, and I was right in my conjectures. "She is some fanatical methodist;" but I looked at her again, and her dress disclaimed the idea, for in it there was much taste displayed.

"Who gave you that name?" said she, after a pause.

The question was simple enough, but it stirred up a host of annoying recollections; but not wis.h.i.+ng to make a confidant of her, I gently replied, as I used to do in the Foundling Hospital on Sunday morning--"My G.o.dfathers and G.o.dmothers in my baptism, ma'am."

"My dear sir, I am very ill," said she, after a pause; "will you feel my pulse?"