“It happened, as I was walking home with him, we were stopped in the street by a crowd, which had gathered round a poor man, who had fallen from a scaffold, and had broken his leg. Dr. Frumpton immediately said, ‘Send for Bland, the surgeon, who lives at the corner of the street.’ The poor man was carried into a shop; we followed him. I found that his leg, besides being broken, was terribly bruised and cut. The surgeon in a few minutes arrived. Mr. Bland, it seems, is a protégé of Frumpton’s, who formerly practised human farriery under him.
“Mr. Bland, after slightly looking at it, said, ‘the leg must come off, the sooner the better.’ The man, perceiving that I pitied him, cast such a beseeching look at me, as made me interpose, impertinently perhaps, but I could not resist it. I forget what I said; but I know the sense of it was, that I thought the poor fellow’s leg could and ought to be saved.—I remember Dr. Frumpton glared upon me instantly with eyes of fury, and asked how I dared to interfere in a surgical case; and to contradict his friend, Mr. Bland, a surgeon!
“They prepared for the operation—the surgeon whipped on his mittens—the poor man, who was almost fainting with loss of blood, cast another piteous look at me, and said, in an Irish accent, ‘Long life to you, dear!—and don’t let’m—for what will I be without a leg? And my wife and children!’
“He fell back in a swoon, and I sprung between the surgeon and him; insisting that, as he had appealed to me, he should be left to me; and declared that I would have him carried to St. George’s Hospital, where I knew he would be taken care of properly.
“Frumpton stamped, and scarcely articulate with rage, bade me—‘stir the man at your peril!’ adding expressions injurious to the hospital, with the governors of which he had some quarrel. I made a sign to the workmen who had brought in the wounded man; they lifted him instantly, and carried him out before me; and one of them, being his countryman, followed, crying aloud, ‘Success to your honour! and may you never want a friend!’
“Frumpton seized him by both shoulders, and pushing him out of the house, exclaimed, ‘Success, by G——, he shall never have, if I can help it! He has lost a friend such as he can never get again—By G—, I’ll make him repent this!’
“Unmoved by these denunciations, I pursued my way to the hospital. You know in what an admirable manner the London hospitals are conducted.—At St. George’s this poor man was received, and attended with the greatest care and skill. The surgeon who has taken charge of him assures me that his leg will, a month hence, be as useful as any leg in London.
“Dr. Frumpton and Mr. Bland have, I find, loudly complained of my interference, as contrary to all medical etiquette—Etiquette!—from Frumpton!—The story has been told with many exaggerations, and always to my disadvantage.—I cannot, however, repent.—Let me lose what I may, I am satisfied with the pleasure of seeing the poor man in a way to do well. Pray let me hear from you, my dear father, and say, if you can, that you think me right—Thank Caroline for her letter.
“Your affectionate
“ERASMUS PERCY.”