“But you must not talk any more,” said Septimus kindly, “you are getting exhausted.”
“I ain’t,” said the old man angrily; “it does me good, revives me; and you don’t believe me, that’s what it is.”
“Yes, I do, indeed,” cried Septimus. “Then let me finish,” whispered the old man. “Doctor Hardon called and asked her where she saw the entry. There, now, there,” whimpered Matt, “see what you’ve done: you made me upset a stickful of matter, and got me all in a pye again. No; all right, sir, I see, I see—he asked her about it before the patient, speaking very sharply, for the doctors mean well, sir. And then what did the old crocodile do, sir, but just turn her eyes towards the whitewash, smooth her apron, raise her hands a bit, and then, half smiling, looks at the doctor like so much pickled innocence, but never says a word; while he, just to comfort the poor fellow, told him to keep up, and it should all be seen to; and then there was a bit of whispering between the doctor and the nurse, and then he went off. But I could see who was believed, for I heard the doctor mutter something about sick man’s fancies as he came across to me. That poor chap died, sir!”
Just then, Septimus gave the old man a meaning look, for one of the nurses came up with a glass of wine, and smiled and curtsied to the visitor.
“I hope he ain’t been talking, sir?” said the woman, in a harsh grating voice with the corners a little rubbed down; “getting on charming, ain’t he, sir? only he will talk too much.—Now drink your wine up, there’s a good soul. Don’t sip it, but toss it down, and it will do you twice as much good;” and while the old man, with the assistance of his visitor, raised himself a little, she gave his pillow two or three vengeful punches and shakes as she snatched it off the bed, the result of her efforts being visible in a slit across the middle, which she placed undermost.
“Yes,” muttered Matt when the woman had gone. “Yes; toss it down, so as not to taste it. Why, that was half water—beautiful wines and spirits as they have here, sir. That’s the very one herself, sir. She killed him.”
“Killed who?” exclaimed Septimus, horrified.
“Don’t shout, sir; leastwise, not if you want to see me again,” said Matt grimly. “Killed that poor fellow I was telling you about. She never forgave him, and a week afterwards and there was the screen round his bed, and the porters came and carried him away. She killed him, sure enough, and I ain’t agoing to tell you about the bother there was with his friends about the doctors, and what they did to him afterwards, it might upset you. It almost does me; not that I care much, for it don’t matter when you’re gone, and I’ve got no friends.”
“Hush, pray; it can’t be so,” exclaimed Septimus, shuddering.
“No, of course not,” chuckled the old man, brightening up from the effects of his stimulant, “O, no; sick man’s fancies, sir, ain’t they? Just what everyone would say; but she killed him all the same, just as dozens more have been killed here. It don’t take much to kill a poor fellow hanging in the balance—him in one scale, and his complaint in the other. The doctor comes and gets in the same scale with him, and bears him down a bit right way; but then as soon as the doctor’s gone, the nurse goes and sits in the other scale, and sends him wrong way again. Good nursing’s of more consequence sometimes than the doctoring, I can tell you, sir, and if I’d had good nursing I shouldn’t have been here at all. Ikey means well, you know, sir; and so does Mother Slagg, eh? but you don’t know them, sir, and it don’t matter.”