Doctor Luttrell's First Patient

  CHAPTER X.

  A GENTLEMANLY TRAMP.

  "'Tis not enough to help the feeble up, But to support him after."--_Timon of Athens_.

  When Olivia had finished her preparations she summoned Marcus upstairs,and with an air of housewifely pride showed him all the arrangementsshe had made.

  In his bachelor days Dr. Luttrell had been in the habit of picking upall sorts of miscellaneous articles at sales, that he thought might beuseful some day, and though Olivia had often laughed at his purchasesand called them old lumber, they had often proved serviceable.

  The strip of faded carpet and shabby little shut up washstand intendedfor the surgery, and a couple of chairs, had been put into the emptyroom, and though it looked bare enough to Marcus's eyes, and in spiteof the bright little fire terribly chilly, it would doubtless be ahaven of refuge to their miserable guest.

  "He says it is just heaven," observed Marcus, when he came downstairsto his wife; "the night before last, poor beggar, he was in the casualward, and last night he had a few hours in some refuge. 'Fancy thecasual ward for a gentleman's son,' he said to me so bitterly, 'andthere was actually a barrister there too, and we fraternised.' It isjust as I thought, Livy, he was discharged from the hospital aboutthree weeks ago, and has been roughing it ever since."

  "Did you ask him his name, Marcus?"

  "Yes, and he hesitated; I don't believe Robert Barton is his real name;the way he gave it looked a bit shady; he is a good-looking fellow, andI can't think he is vicious, but he is one of those weak fellows whoget led away. If we are to help him, he must tell us more abouthimself."

  Olivia found her hands full the next day; when Marcus went up to seeBarton, he found him flushed and feverish, and complained of aching inhis limbs.

  "It is only a bad chill," he said, when Olivia looked grave at thisreport; "but unless we take care of him well for a day or two, it willbe pneumonia or congestion of the lungs. I shall be pretty busy forthe next two or three hours, and am afraid I must leave him to you andMartha. Don't let him talk, and keep the fire up, that room is stilllike an ice-house. Are you sure you don't mind the bother, Livy?"

  And though Olivia was too truthful to answer in the negative, shepromised to do her best for Marcus's _protege_.

  Robert Barton looked more to advantage lying in bed in Dr. Luttrell'sold red striped blazer than he had done in his threadbare shabbyclothes the previous night; indeed, Olivia quite started when she sawhim; he was certainly what Marcus called him, a good-looking fellow,the dark blue eyes were beautiful and full of expression; he flushed asOlivia asked him kindly how he felt.

  "I feel pretty bad," he returned, "and the doctor says I must lie here.I used not to think much of the story of the Good Samaritan, but Ibelieve in it now. Oh, if you knew what it was to feel clean linenabout me again."

  "My husband says you are not to talk," replied Olivia, gently, "so Imust carry out his orders; there is some medicine you are to take, andby-and-by I shall bring you some hot broth; if only your cough wereeasier you would be able to sleep, but perhaps the drops will do yougood."

  "Thanks awfully; if you will put them down by me, I will take them, butplease, please do not trouble about me, I am not worth it. I never wasworth anything;" he sighed and there were tears in his eyes; but Oliviatook no notice, she put things straight and then went about herbusiness. On her next visit she found him sleeping; but as she putdown the cup of hot broth beside him he half woke.

  "Mother," he said, in a hoarse voice, "I never did it, I swear to youon my honour; I was never as bad as that; ask Olive, she believes inme, she knows I could not be such a low cad."

  "Mr. Barton, I have brought you your broth; will you please take itbefore it gets cold?" and Olivia's clear voice roused Robert Bartoneffectually.

  "I was dreaming," he said, looking at her rather confusedly. "Ithought I was at Medhurst, in the old library; oh, what a fool I am!"and there was almost a despairing look in his eyes.

  "You are weak, or you would not dream so, and yet it must be natural todream about your own people. I am so glad you have someone belongingto you; last night we were afraid that you were quite friendless," thenshe stopped as she remembered Marcus's injunctions.

  "No, I am not friendless," he returned, raising himself withdifficulty, and coughing as he spoke. "Even the prodigal son hadrelatives, you know--a father and an elder brother; but he was betteroff than I, for he knew where to find them"--but here such a terriblefit of coughing came on, that Olivia forbade him to say another word.

  "You shall tell us all about it when you are better," she said, kindly;"perhaps, who knows, we may be able to help you find your friends; weare poor people ourselves, my husband is only just beginning to make apractice, so there is not much that we can do."

  Then as she stooped over him and wiped his brow, she was almoststartled by the sweetness of the smile that crossed the young man'sface.

  "Not much," he reiterated; but Olivia shook her head at him toinculcate silence, and carried away the empty cup.

  When Marcus came home at dinner-time, she proposed sending a noteacross to Galvaston House to tell Mr. Gaythorne that she could notleave home that afternoon, but to her surprise Dr. Luttrell objected tothis.

  "You know how crotchety Mr. Gaythorne is," he said, quickly, "and itwill never do to disappoint him; he might be a bit touchy. Barton willbe all right, and I shall be in myself the greater part of theafternoon." And then Olivia's scruples vanished.

  She felt Marcus had been wise when she entered the library. Mr.Gaythorne was evidently expecting her; he had a large portfolio openbefore him. As he held out his hand to her without rising--for he hadstill great difficulty in moving--there was a brighter look on his face.

  "We must make the most of the daylight," he said, and the next momentOlivia found herself in Venice.

  The views were so beautiful and Mr. Gaythorne's descriptions sointeresting, that, as usual, the time passed quickly. It was not untilthey were drinking their coffee in the pleasant firelight that Oliviafound an opportunity of narrating her husband's strange adventure ofthe previous evening.

  Mr. Gaythorne listened with his usual air of half contemptuousamusement; but before she came to the end of the recital he turned uponher quickly.

  "Do you mean that the tramp is actually in your house at this moment?"he asked, indignantly.

  "Oh, please don't call him that; he is a gentleman, he speaks in quitean educated manner, and his ways are so refined. Marcus saw that atonce."

  "Pooh, nonsense! My dear Mrs. Luttrell, a gentlemanly tramp is theworst kind; it is generally drink and profligacy that have dragged themdown. You will be robbed or burnt in your beds!"

  Olivia could not conceal her amusement. A vivid remembrance of theflushed, weary young face of the wanderer rose before her; it was soboyish-looking with the fair hair and golden brown moustache.

  "I am sure he does not drink," she returned, trying vainly to suppressa smile; but this contradiction did not please Mr. Gaythorne.

  "How can you know anything about it?" he asked, testily; "from your ownaccount he has told you nothing except that he has been in a hospitaland a casual ward--they have plenty of cases of delirium tremens inboth places. Good heavens! and I thought Dr. Luttrell was a sensibleman. This is the way he takes care of his wife and child, harbouring afrozen-out tramp."

  "Dear Mr. Gaythorne," returned Olivia, pleadingly, "just put yourselfin my husband's place. Marcus found the poor young fellow on adoorstep in Harbut Road not a dozen yards from his own door. Being adoctor, he saw at once that he must be warmed and fed or life would beendangered, and Christmas night of all nights. How could he forbear insheer humanity to take in the poor creature, and then when he found howweak he was, how was he to turn him out into the streets again?"

  "He might have sent for a cab and had him driven to a hospital."

  "No--Marcus said it was no case for a hospital, at least at present;they would not have admitted him; indeed--in
deed he could not have doneotherwise--I told him so at once. What is the use of going to churchand saying one's prayers if one shrinks from such a clear duty as that?Why, we should never dare to read St. James again!"

  "And why not, may I ask?"

  "Because we should have set our faces against his teaching. Oh, youknow what I mean, Mr. Gaythorne," and Olivia repeated the textreverently: "'If a brother or sister be naked and in lack of dailyfood, and one of you say unto them go in peace, be ye clothed and fed,and yet you give them not those things needful for the body, what dothit profit?' Marcus does not only profess his religion. Oh"--finishedOlivia, with sparkling eyes--"I did feel so proud of my husband lastnight."

  "Well--well; if you choose to be Quixotic it is your own affair, notmine," but Mr. Gaythorne spoke with less irritation. "Now shall we goon with the portfolio, or do you want to go back to your gentlemanlytramp?" Then Olivia begged to finish the pictures.

  "I have nearly half an hour before Dot's bedtime," she said,cheerfully, "and then I must go," and so harmony was restored.

  When the half-hour had passed, Olivia took her leave, but before shereached the door, Mr. Gaythorne called her back and thrust somethinginto her hand.

  "That will help you to provide for your tramp," he said, hurriedly,"and prevent him from eating you out of house and home. Mind you repayyourself before you lay out any for him: do you suppose," in a cynicaltone, "that your husband's income will bear the expense of such aninmate as that?" and Olivia, to her intense astonishment, found the twocrumpled bits of paper in her hand were five-pound notes.

  "Oh there is no need for this," she said, in distress; "have youforgotten the turkey and all those good things Aunt Madge sent us?" butMr. Gaythorne waved her away.

  "Nonsense," he said, crossly; "do you suppose a trifle like thatmatters to me? Why, I am not spending half my income; if you want anymore you can just let me know; but if you take my advice you will getrid of that fellow as soon as possible."

  Marcus smiled when Olivia showed him the money. "Put it away for thepresent," he said, "it will buy Barton some warm clothes; we can affordto give him his bit and sup for a few days; he is stone broke, as theycall it, and a few pounds may be just what he requires, and put him onhis feet again."

  When Mrs. Broderick heard of the strange guest at No. 1, GalvastonTerrace, she was deeply interested, and warmly commended Marcus'sphilanthropy.

  "I wonder," she said, thoughtfully, after a few minutes' silence,"whether any of Fergus's things would fit him; you know what a foolishbody I have been, Livy, to keep them all this time, and it gives Deb somuch trouble to preserve them from moth; but there, we all have ourcrazes.

  "I have been meaning to part with them for a long time, and this seemsa good opportunity; it does seem such a pity to touch that money; itwould set him up to have a few pounds in hand."

  Olivia could not deny this, and in her secret heart she thought AuntMadge could not do better with her dead husband's things.

  "It will be a real act of charity," she said, frankly. "Oh, AuntMadge, if you could only see his clothes, they are so worn andthreadbare, and when Martha washed his shirt and socks she almost criedover the holes; and then his boots!"

  "Say no more, my child, it shall be done, and at once," and Mrs.Broderick's mouth looked unusually firm.

  The very next day Marcus carried a big parcel upstairs and opened itbefore Robert Barton's astonished eyes.

  Mrs. Broderick, who did nothing grudgingly, had put up all she thoughtrequisite--a warm suit, and a great coat, a pair of boots, somecoloured flannel shirts and warm underclothing.

  "It has upset him a bit," Marcus said, when he re-entered the parlour,"he is still so weak, you see. He fairly broke down when I showed himthe things. He is very grateful; by-the-bye, Livy," sitting downbeside her as he spoke, "he has been telling me more about himselfto-night; not much, certainly, he does not seem to like speaking ofhimself, but he gave me a brief outline.

  "He has relations, only he has not seen them for some years; itappeared he quarrelled with them or got wrong somehow; in fact, heowned he had been a bit wild, and then things went from bad to worsewith him, and he had a run of ill-luck.

  "It seems he is an artist and rather fond of his profession, but hehurt his hand, and blood-poisoning came on, and for some time he wasafraid he would lose his right arm; for months he could paint nopictures, and so all his little capital was swallowed up."

  "But why did he not write to his people, Marcus, and make it up withthem?"

  "So he did, but his letters never got answered, and he got sick of itat last. When he was pretty nearly at the end of his tether he cameback to England. I think he said he was in Paris then, or was itBeyrout? well, never mind, he went straight to his old home; but to hishorror the house was shut up, and to let, and the caretaker told himthat no one had lived there for years, and that she believed the partywho had owned it was abroad; he could get nothing more than that out ofher.

  "He put up at a little wayside inn that night, meaning to makeinquiries in the neighbourhood, but the next day he fell ill, and aftera bit they took him to the hospital, and since then he drifted up toLondon, hoping to see his father's old lawyer and glean intelligencefrom him, but he found he was dead. His fixed intention was to go downagain to the place and see the vicar and prosecute his inquiries inperson, but ill-luck pursued him; he was robbed in some wretchedlodging, and soon found himself in actual want; 'but I mean, if I diefor it, to get to Medhurst somehow,' he said to me. 'I could havefound someone to identify me there; not that we had been there long,for my people mostly lived abroad, but there must be some friends whocould tell me about them.'

  "It is a queer story altogether, and yet not a wholly improbable one;but there is a mystery somewhere, Livy, and I am sure of one thing,that his name is not Barton. I hinted as much, but he only flushed upand said nothing."