“No matter,” said the doctor, finishing it; “I could eat it if it were the Great Sahara!”
A Modern Gilpin.
The widow Wealthy lived in the country. She was a blooming widow, fair, plump, and—sickly. She owned a valuable farm, just turning off from the main thoroughfare,—broad acres, nice cottage house, great barn and granary, and she was considered, by certain eligible old bachelors, and a widower or two, as “a mighty good catch.”
Dr. Filley practised in the country. He was a bachelor, above forty. He was a short, thick-set man, with a fair practice, which might have been better, but for certain whispers about a growing propensity to—drinking! That’s the word. Of course he denied the insinuation, and defied any one to prove that he was ever the worse for liquor. The doctor was attendant, professionally, upon the widow, and—well you know how the gossips manage that sort of a thing in the country. But who was to know whether “the doctor made more visits per week to the widow Wealthy than her state of health seemed to warrant”? or who knew that “the widow was ‘sweet’ towards the little doctor, and that she intended he should throw the bill all in at the end of the year—himself to boot?” Never mind his rivals; they do not come into our amusing story.
John, the widow’s hired man, was sent very unexpectedly, one day in autumn, for the doctor to call that afternoon, to see the invalid. Very unexpectedly to the widow, and greatly to her mortification, two gossiping neighbors called at her residence just as the doctor was expected to arrive. “O, she was so glad to see Mrs. —— and Mrs. ——!”
Dr. Filley rode a scraggy little Canadian horse,—a fiery, headstrong beast, but a good saddle horse. Somehow, the unexpected call, at that hour, slightly “flustered” the little doctor; but he threw his saddle-bags over his shoulder, mounted the beast, and turned his head towards the widow’s residence.
“I b’lieve I am a little nervous over this colt; I wonder what’s the matter!” And he tried to rein up the headstrong little beast, to give himself time to—sober off!
“I reary bl’eve I’m a little—taken by surprise—ho, Charley! Why, what’s got inter—pony? Goes like ’r devil. Ho, ho, boy.”
Pretty soon the beast struck into a gallop; and now he reached the lane that led into Mrs. Wealthy’s farm. The pony knew the lane as well as his master, and the barn better. The said lane led by the barn-yard and out-buildings, the house being beyond. The barn-yard bars were down, and the pony made for the opening, in a clean gallop, over the fallen bars, right in amongst the cattle, the sheep, and the swine. A big ox gave a bellow at the sudden arrival, and, with tail and head in air, ran to the opposite side of the yard, intruding upon the comfort of a big old sow, that was dozing in the mud. With a loud snort, the discomfited porker rushed from the mire just in time to meet the horse, and in attempting to pass on both sides at once, she went between the short fore legs of the pony, and brought up with a loud squeal, and a shock that sent the rider over the horse’s head, down astride the hog. The pony reared, wheeled, and ran out of the yard at one pair of bars, and the sow went pell-mell out of the other, bearing the doctor and saddle-bags swiftly along towards the house.
The hired man witnessed the sudden change of steeds, and gave the alarm. The widow—not so very sick—was just graciously showing her two unwelcome lady callers out, after being worried nearly an hour by their company; and taking an anxious look towards the lane, she saw the doctor coming on a clean—no, dirty—gallop, on her old sow.