The result was that he had purchased a book or two giving accounts of the Royal Observatory, the peculiarities of the different instruments used, the various objects most studied; and in these works he was coaching himself up as fast as he could on the present night—having “a comfortable read” as he called it, before going to bed—when there came a bit of a novelty for him, a sudden summons to go and see a patient.
“What’s the matter?” he said, going to the door to answer the call, after a glance at his watch, to see that it was half-past twelve.
“Well, sir,” said the messenger, Caleb Kent, “it’s mate o’ mine hurt hissen like, somehow. Met of a fall, I think.”
“Fall, eh? Where is he hurt?”
“Mostlings ’bout the ’ead, sir, but he’s a bit touched all over.”
“What did he fall off—a cart?”
“No, sir, it warn’t off a cart. Hadn’t you better come and see him, sir?”
“Of course, my man, but I don’t want to go away from home, and then find I might have taken something, and saved my patient a great deal of suffering.”
“Yes, sir; quite right, sir,” said the man mysteriously; “well, you see, sir, I can’t talk about it like. It weer a fall certainly, but some one made him fall.”
“Oh, a fight, eh?”