“And lets me languish here in obscurity!” continued the enraged painter. “Now I’ll never put another stroke to his Dutch beauty’s portrait, if I starve—if I rot for it in jail! He a Mecænas!”
The changes upon this abuse were rung repeatedly by this irritated genius, his voice and palsied hand trembling with rage while he spoke, till he was interrupted by a carriage stopping at the door.
“Here’s the patron!” cried the Irishman, with an arch look. “Ay, it’s the patron, sure enough!”
Dr. Percy was going away, but O’Brien got between him and the door, menacing his coat with his pallet-knife covered with oil—Erasmus stopped.
“I axe your pardon, but don’t go,” whispered he: “I wouldn’t for the best coat nor waistcoat ever I seen you went this minute, dear!”
Mr. Gresham was announced—a gentleman of a most respectable, benevolent, prepossessing appearance, whom Erasmus had some recollection of having seen before. Mr. Gresham recognized him instantly: he was the merchant whom Erasmus had met at Sir Amyas Courtney’s the morning when he offended Sir Amyas about the made shell. After having spoken a few words to the painter about the portrait, Mr. Gresham turned to Dr. Percy, and said, “I am afraid, sir, that you lost a friend at court by your sincerity about a shell.”
Before Erasmus could answer—in less time than he could have thought it possible to take off a stocking, a great bare leg—O’Brien’s leg, came between Mr. Gresham and Dr. Percy. “There’s what lost him a rich friend any way, and gained him a poor one, if that would do any good. There it is now! This leg! God for ever bless him and reward him for it!”
Then with eloquence, emphasis, and action, which came from the heart, and went to the heart, the poor fellow told how his leg had been saved, and spoke of what Dr. Percy had done for him, in terms which Erasmus would have been ashamed to hear, but that he really was so much affected with O’Brien’s gratitude, and thought it did so much honour to human nature, that he could not stop him.—Mr. Gresham was touched also; and upon observing this, Erasmus’s friend, with his odd mixture of comedy and pathos, ended with this exhortation, “And God bless you, sir! you’re a great man, and have many to my knowledge under a compliment to you, and if you’ve any friends that are lying, or sick, if you’d recommend them to send for him in preference to any other of the doctors, it would be a charity to themselves and to me; for I will never have peace else, thinking how I have been a hinderance to him. And a charity it would be to themselves, for what does the sick want but to be cured? and there’s the man will do that for them, as two witnesses here present can prove—that jantleman, if he would spake, and myself.”
Erasmus now peremptorily stopped this scene, for he began to feel for himself, and to be ashamed of the ridicule which his puffing friend, in his zeal, was throwing upon him. Erasmus said that he had done nothing for O’Brien except placing him in St. George’s Hospital, where he had been admirably well attended. Mr. Gresham, however, at once relieved his wounded delicacy, and dispelled all fears and anxiety, by the manner in which he spoke and looked. He concluded by inviting Dr. Percy to his house, expressing with much cordiality a wish to be more intimately acquainted with a young gentleman, of whose character he had accidentally learned more good than his modesty seemed willing to allow should be known.
O’Brien’s eyes sparkled; he rubbed his hands, but restrained himself lest Dr. Percy should be displeased. When Erasmus went away, O’Brien followed him down stairs, begging his honour’s pardon—if he had said any thing wrong or unbecoming, it was through ignorance.