"What is it, John?"
"Ride out six miles on horseback, every morning at six o'clock,—and six miles back again,—and that for six days; and if, at the end of that time, your lethargic state is not improved, then say, John Tattsall is a good-for-nothing humbug, and deserves to be well horsewhipped."
"But, John, I never rode on horseback in my life: never was in the habit of it. I do not think I ever could."
"Master, you must try, if you would not die."
Now the Doctor did not like the thought of dying, though he had seen so much of it when it touched others. A strange kind of nervous sensation ran through him,—not through his veins, for he was one who wrote against "vasicular nerves,"—but it ran through his system, as he thought of John's words, "Master, you must try, if you would not die."
"Well John,—I will try,—but you must teach me!" "Come, master, that's right; nothing like trying to amend our ways before it's too late, as good Doctor Cassock said. So a good beginning, well followed up, and, barring accident, I see no reason, Doctor, why you should not live for forty years longer. You know well, that a man overworked, like any other animal, is soon worn out; and a man who does no work, very soon dies. Just come and look at a nice little Norway cob I have in my stable; quiet and gentle as a lamb. A very few turns down my ride, will give you a seat in the saddle, and you shall be again a happy man."
The Doctor got into the saddle that very evening; and nobody saw him, but John; and if the stable boys peeped out and smiled, they got a little back-handed tip with their master's whip, and were glad to hide their diminished heads in the straw. He went home a little more cheerful; played a game of backgammon with his wife, and kissed the cheek of his only child Kate, and seemed a little better. To the surprise of his family, he ordered hot water into his dressing-room, at half-past five in the morning; and, of course, it was thought he was going to take a journey. He did so; but when he went out, he said, "I shall breakfast at half-past eight o'clock."
So the Doctor took a six miles' tour every morning, for six days. He improved daily; and though he rode very awkwardly at first, holding on by the reins, and keeping his brow bent and his eye intent upon the Norway Cob's ears, his daily exercise did him a world of good; and before the week was out, he began to find himself a different creature. At the end of the week, he gave John Tattsall fifty guineas for the Cob; and a friendship, founded upon mutual accommodation, subsisted between them, to the day of their deaths.
So was a horse-dealer made an angel or messenger of health to the mournful spirit or unstrung nerves of Doctor Geoffery Gambado. He had the honesty to own it. The Doctor perfectly recovered his right mind and bodily health; and, like a wise man, who well knows that the same thing which does him good may do others the same, he took more patients to John Tattsall's livery stables than he ever sent to the sea side, to Madeira, to Buxton, or to Margate, Ramsgate, or any other gate whatsoever. John kept horses to suit all comers and all customers, and found Doctor Gambado the most grateful of all, because he always owned that, beneath a good Providence, he did him great good.
The Doctor's fame rapidly increased with the increase of his health. He soon became the very first Physician in nervous complaints. He knew the cause of nervous degeneracy,—no man better. He recommended Tattsall to all such patients as he found likely to be benefitted by him; and they were not a few. His letters, if they could be collected, would be found as direct to the point as the Wellington despatches.