“Yes, it is, sir,” I said. “Ah, you can do a lot with money—and they’re rolling in it.”
He had been with us nearly a week when this happened. The morning after that he said he must go to London for the day to make some arrangements, but he would be back in the evening, and he hoped, if he found all well at home, to be able to stay a few days longer. He said he’d be back by the six o’clock train, and would I have dinner ready for him at half-past.
He came back and said he was very sorry, but he found he shouldn’t be able to stay as he had hoped, so would I have his bill ready for him in the morning, when he would have to return to town.
“I hope you have been comfortable, sir?” I said.
“Very comfortable indeed, Mrs. Beckett, and I shall certainly recommend all my patients who want a few days’ change and rest to come to you.”
That evening, about nine o’clock, one of our customers came into the bar-parlour looking very pale. It was Mr. Jarvis, the miller, whose mill was about five minutes’ walk from the lodge gates of the Hall.
“What’s the matter, Jarvis?” everybody said, for they saw something was wrong directly they looked at him.
“Oh,” he said; “it’s nothing. I shall be all right directly; but I’ve had a narrow escape. You know how narrow the lane is near my place. Well, as I was walking along coming here I heard wheels, and before I could get out of the way a dog-cart came along at a fearful pace, and the shaft caught me and threw me into the hedge. It was a mercy I wasn’t killed. I shouted after the man who was driving, and he turned round and used the most fearful language at me. What with the fright and my rage at being treated like that, it’s no wonder if I look queer. Give me six o’ brandy neat, Mrs. Beckett, please.”
“How disgraceful!” said the London physician. “Do you know the driver?”
“No, he don’t belong about here. I couldn’t see his face, because he didn’t carry no lights; but he were a Londoner. I could tell by the way he spoke.”