“Damn the tobacco box—and damn that—never mind—no, no, doctor, you had better order the box to be buried with you, for nobody could use it after you; but if I might presume so far—might use the very great liberty to make a selection, I would request, entreat, nay, implore you to leave me the whole suit of clothes in which you are now standing; and if you would be so considerate, so kind, so generous, by God I’ll have them stuffed and preserved as a curiosity.”
“Captain Reud, you are too good. Mr Staples,” turning helplessly to his assistant, “get me immediately an effervescing draught. Excuse my sitting—I am very faint—you are so kind—you quite overcome me.”
“No, not yet,” said the captain in a dry tone, but full of meaning. “I may perhaps by-and-by, when you know more of me; but now—O no! However, I’ll do my best to make you grateful. And I’m sorry to acquaint you, that the admiral has put off the survey till twelve o’clock to-morrow, when I trust that you will be as well prepared as you are now. Don’t be dejected, doctor, you have the consolation of knowing, that if you die in the meantime, all the annoyance of the examination will be saved you. In the interim, don’t forget the old clothes—the invaliding suit. My clerk shall step down with you into the cabin, and tack a memorandum on, by way of codicil, to your will: don’t omit those high-quartered, square-toed shoes, with the brass buckles.”
“If you would promise to wear them out yourself.”
“No, no; but I promise to put them on when I am going to invalid; or to lend them to Mr Farmer, or any other friend, on a similar occasion.”
“I hope,” said Mr Farmer, “that I shall never stand in the doctor’s shoes.”
“I hope you never will—nor in Captain Reud’s either.”
The gallant commander turned from yellow to black at this innuendo, which was, for many reasons, particularly disagreeable. Seeing that he was bagging to leeward, like a west-country barge laden with a haystack, in this sailing-match of wits, he broke up the conference by observing, “You had better, doctor, in consideration of your weakness, retire to your cabin. I certainly cannot, seeing my near prospect of your invaluable legacy, in any honesty wish you better.”
With all due precautions, hesitations, and restings, Dr Thompson reached his cabin, and I doubt not as he descended, enervated as he was, but that he placed, like O’Connell, a vow in heaven, that if ever Captain Reud fell under his surgical claws, the active operations of Dr Sangrado should be in their celerity even as the progress of the sloth, compared with the despatch and energy with which he would proceed on the coveted opportunity.
When he was alone he was overheard to murmur, “Stand in my shoes—the ignorant puppies! I shall see one of them, if not both in their shrouds yet. Stand in my shoes! it is true the buckles are but brass; but they are shoes whose latchets they are not worthy to unloose.”