Chapter iii.

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.