In which the surgeon makes his second appearance.
Before we proceed any farther, that the reader may not be mistaken in
imagining the landlady knew more than she did, nor surprized that she
knew so much, it may be necessary to inform him that the lieutenant
had acquainted her that the name of Sophia had been the occasion of
the quarrel; and as for the rest of her knowledge, the sagacious
reader will observe how she came by it in the preceding scene. Great
curiosity was indeed mixed with her virtues; and she never willingly
suffered any one to depart from her house, without enquiring as much
as possible into their names, families, and fortunes.
She was no sooner gone than Jones, instead of animadverting on her
behaviour, reflected that he was in the same bed which he was informed
had held his dear Sophia. This occasioned a thousand fond and tender
thoughts, which we would dwell longer upon, did we not consider that
such kind of lovers will make a very inconsiderable part of our
readers. In this situation the surgeon found him, when he came to
dress his wound. The doctor perceiving, upon examination, that his
pulse was disordered, and hearing that he had not slept, declared that
he was in great danger; for he apprehended a fever was coming on,
which he would have prevented by bleeding, but Jones would not submit,
declaring he would lose no more blood; “and, doctor,” says he, “if you
will be so kind only to dress my head, I have no doubt of being well
in a day or two.”
“I wish,” answered the surgeon, “I could assure your being well in a
month or two. Well, indeed! No, no, people are not so soon well of
such contusions; but, sir, I am not at this time of day to be
instructed in my operations by a patient, and I insist on making a
revulsion before I dress you.”
Jones persisted obstinately in his refusal, and the doctor at last
yielded; telling him at the same time that he would not be answerable
for the ill consequence, and hoped he would do him the justice to
acknowledge that he had given him a contrary advice; which the patient
promised he would.
The doctor retired into the kitchen, where, addressing himself to the
landlady, he complained bitterly of the undutiful behaviour of his
patient, who would not be blooded, though he was in a fever.
“It is an eating fever then,” says the landlady; “for he hath devoured
two swinging buttered toasts this morning for breakfast.”
“Very likely,” says the doctor: “I have known people eat in a fever;
and it is very easily accounted for; because the acidity occasioned by
the febrile matter may stimulate the nerves of the diaphragm, and
thereby occasion a craving which will not be easily distinguishable
from a natural appetite; but the aliment will not be concreted, nor
assimilated into chyle, and so will corrode the vascular orifices, and
thus will aggravate the febrific symptoms. Indeed, I think the
gentleman in a very dangerous way, and, if he is not blooded, I am
afraid will die.”
“Every man must die some time or other,” answered the good woman; “it
is no business of mine. I hope, doctor, you would not have me hold him
while you bleed him. But, hark'ee, a word in your ear; I would advise
you, before you proceed too far, to take care who is to be your
paymaster.”
“Paymaster!” said the doctor, staring; “why, I've a gentleman under my
hands, have I not?”
“I imagined so as well as you,” said the landlady; “but, as my first
husband used to say, everything is not what it looks to be. He is an
arrant scrub, I assure you. However, take no notice that I mentioned
anything to you of the matter; but I think people in business oft
always to let one another know such things.”
“And have I suffered such a fellow as this,” cries the doctor, in a
passion, “to instruct me? Shall I hear my practice insulted by one who
will not pay me? I am glad I have made this discovery in time. I will
see now whether he will be blooded or no.” He then immediately went
upstairs, and flinging open the door of the chamber with much
violence, awaked poor Jones from a very sound nap, into which he was
fallen, and, what was still worse, from a delicious dream concerning
Sophia.
“Will you be blooded or no?” cries the doctor, in a rage. “I have told
you my resolution already,” answered Jones, “and I wish with all my
heart you had taken my answer; for you have awaked me out of the
sweetest sleep which I ever had in my life.”
“Ay, ay,” cries the doctor; “many a man hath dozed away his life.
Sleep is not always good, no more than food; but remember, I demand of
you for the last time, will you be blooded?”--“I answer you for the
last time,” said Jones, “I will not.”--“Then I wash my hands of you,”
cries the doctor; “and I desire you to pay me for the trouble I have
had already. Two journeys at 5s. each, two dressings at 5s. more, and
half a crown for phlebotomy.”--“I hope,” said Jones, “you don't intend
to leave me in this condition.”--“Indeed but I shall,” said the other.
“Then,” said Jones, “you have used me rascally, and I will not pay you
a farthing.”--“Very well,” cries the doctor; “the first loss is the
best. What a pox did my landlady mean by sending for me to such
vagabonds!” At which words he flung out of the room, and his patient
turning himself about soon recovered his sleep; but his dream was
unfortunately gone.