Up The Hill And Over Part 12

The hands of the friends met in a firm handclasp.

"Have it your own way," said the professor, smiling his grim smile.

"Consider me silenced."

The doctor's answer was cut off by the jingling entrance of Mrs. Sykes bearing before her a large tray upon which stood tall gla.s.ses, a beaded pitcher of ice cold lemonade and some cake with white frosting.

"Seeing as it's so hot," said she amiably, "I thought a cold drink might cool you off some. Especially as breakfast will be five minutes late owing to the chicken. I thought maybe as you had a friend, doctor, a chicken--"

"A chicken will be delicious," said the doctor, answering the question in her voice. "Mrs. Sykes, let me present Professor Willits; Willits, Mrs. Sykes! Let me take the tray."

Mrs. Sykes shook hands cordially. "Land sakes!" she said. "I thought you were a priest! Not that I really suspicioned that the doctor, good Presbyterian as he is, would know any such. But priests is terrible wily. They deceive the very elect--and it's best to be prepared. As it is, any friend of the doctor's is a friend of mine. You're kindly welcome, I'm sure."

"Thank you," said the professor limply.

The doctor handed them each a gla.s.s and raised his own.

"Let us drink," he said, "to Coombe. 'Coombe and the Soul cure!'"

"Amen!" said Willits.

"Land sakes!" said Mrs. Sykes. "I thought it was his spine!"

CHAPTER VIII

Zerubbabel Burk sat upon his stool of office in the doctor's consulting room, swinging his legs. Would-be discoverers of perpetual motion might have received many hints from Bubble, though he himself would have scorned to consider the swinging of legs as motion. He was under the delusion that he was sitting perfectly still. For the doctor was asleep.

Asleep, at four o'clock on a glorious summer day! No wonder his friend and partner wore a tragic face.

"Doesn't seem to care a hang if he never gets any patients!" mused Bubble, resentfully, stealing a half fond, half angry glance at the placid face of the sleeper. "Only two folks in all day and one a kid with a pin in its throat. And all he says is, 'Don't worry, son, we're getting on fine!' We'll go smash one of these days, that's what we'll do--just smas.h.!.+"

"Tap-tap" sounded the blinds which were drawn over the western windows.

A pleasant little breeze was trying to come in. "Buzz" sounded a fly on the wall. Bubble arose noisily and killed it with a resounding "thwack."

"Wake the doctor, would you?" he said. "Take that!"

But even the pistol-like report which accompanied the fly's demise failed to ruffle the sleeper. Bubble returned disconsolate to his stool.

"Smash," he repeated, "smash is the word. I see our finish."

The p.r.o.noun which Bubble used nowadays was always "we." He belonged to the doctor body and soul, but it was no servile giving. The doctor also belonged to him, and it was with this privilege of owners.h.i.+p that he now found fault with his idol. Had any one else objected to the doctor's afternoon rest he would have found reason and excuse enough; but in his own heart he was puzzled. Such indifference to the appearances, such wilful disregard of "business" could hardly, he thought, be real; yet, for an imitation, it was remarkably well done. Bubble admired even while he deprecated.

Why, he did not even go to church so that the minister might introduce him around as "Dr. Callandar, the new brother who has come amongst us."

Neither did he walk down Main Street, nor show himself in public places.

When he went walking he went early in the morning and directed his steps toward the country. About all the usual means of harmless and necessary advertising he did not seem to know Beans! Bubble looked disconsolately out of the window. There was Ann, now, coming across the yard. School must be out, and still the doctor slept.

"Anybody in?" asked Ann in a stage whisper.

"Not just now. Been very busy though. Doctor's resting. Stop that noise."

"I'm not making any noise! He's part my doctor anyway. I'll make a noise if I like--"

"No you won't, miss!"

"But I don't _like_," added Ann with her impish smile. "If he's asleep what are you staying here for? Come on out."

Bubble regarded the tempter with scornful amazement.

"That's it!" he exclaimed, "jest like I always said, women haven't any sense of honour. What d'ye suppose I'm here for?"

"Not just to swing your legs," placidly. "He doesn't need you when he's asleep, does he? Come on and let's get some water-cress. He'd like some for his tea--dinner I mean. Say, Bubble, why does he call it dinner?"

"Because he comes from the city, Silly! They don't have any tea in the city. They have breakfast when they get up and lunch at noon and dinner about seven or eight or nine at night. Then if they get hungry before bed-time they have supper. The doctor says he never gets hungry after dinner so he don't have that."

Ann considered this a moment.

"They do so have tea!" she declared. "I heard Mrs. Andrew West telling about it. She said her sister in Toronto had a tea specially for her."

"Oh," with superb disdain, "that's just for women. If they can't wait for dinner they get bread and b.u.t.ter and tea in the afternoon. But they have to eat it walking around and they only get it when they go out to call."

Ann sighed. "I'd like to live in the city," she murmured. "Say, don't you feel as if you'd like a cookie right now?"

Bubble squirmed. But his Spartan fort.i.tude held.

"In business hours? No, thank you. 'Tisn't professional. Look silly, wouldn't I, if one of our patients caught me eating?"

"How many to-day?"

"That'd be telling. 'Tisn't professional to tell. Doctor says if a man wants to succeed, he's got to be as dumb as a noyster in business!"

"Pshaw!" said Ann, "Aunty'll tell. She always counts. Then you don't want a cookie?"

"Well--later on--Cricky! here's some one coming! You scoot--pike it!"

"I won't!" Ann stood her ground, peering eagerly around the rose bush.

"It's only Esther Coombe. She'll be coming to see Aunt--no--she's coming here! Hi, Bubble, wake him up--quick!"

"Hum, Hum!" said Bubble in a loud voice, rattling a chair. The sleeper made no movement.

Ann, brave through anxiety, flew across the room and shook him with all the strength of her small hands. The heavy lids lifted and still Ann shook.

"Is it an earthquake?" asked the victim politely.

"No--it's a patient! Oh, do get up. Oh, goodness gracious, look at your hair!"

The doctor pa.s.sed his hand absently over a disordered head. "Yes," he said, "I have always thought that shaking is not good for hair. Dear me!