During these remarks my mother gave no signs of returning animation, and at last my father became seriously alarmed. “Jack,” said he, “I must cut my stick, or they may put me into limbo. As soon as I have cleared out, do you run for a doctor to look at your mother; and mind you don’t forget to tell that old chap who was boozing with me last night everything which has happened, and the people will say, come what will on it, that I was aggravated sufficient; and, Jack, if there he a crowner’s inquest, mind you tell the truth. You know I didn’t want to kill the old woman, don’t you, my boy? for didn’t I say that I’d keep the tail to give her another dose when I came back again?—that proves I didn’t intend that she should slip her wind, you know, boy. I said I’d give her another dose, you know, Jack—and,” continued my father, “so I will, if I find her above ground when I comes back again.”
My father then went downstairs. Little Virginia had fallen asleep again on the sofa; my father kissed her softly, shook hands with me, and put a crown in my hand. He then unlocked the door, and, thrusting the end of his pigtail into his breast, coiled it, as it were, round his body, hastened down the alley, and was soon out of sight.
Chapter Eight.
In which the doctor pays a visit and receives no fee; and I am obliged to work very hard to procure myself a livelihood.
I did not forget my father’s injunctions, for I was very much frightened. There was a doctor who lived half-way up Church Street, a short distance from Fisher’s Alley. He was a little man with a large head sunk down between two broad shoulders; his eyes were small and twinkling, his nose snubbed, his pate nearly bald; but on the sides of his head the hair was long and flowing. But if his shoulders were broad, the rest of his body was not in the same proportion—for he narrowed as he descended, his hips being very small, and his legs as thin as those of a goat. His real name was Todpoole, but the people invariably called him Tadpole, and he certainly in appearance somewhat reminded you of one. He was a facetious little fellow, and, it was said, very clever in his profession.
“Doctor Tadpole,” cried I, out of breath with running, “come—quick, my mother is very bad indeed.”
“What’s the matter?” said he, peering over a mortar in which he was rubbing up something with the pestle. “External or internal?”
Although I did not know what he meant, I replied, “Both, doctor, and a great deal more besides.”