In the case of any other man, Benjulia would have seen that the one object of these prudent remarks was to irritate him. Misled by his profound conviction of his brother’s stupidity, he now thought it possible that the concealed portions of the letter might be worth notice. He stopped Lemuel at the door. “I’ve changed my mind,” he said; “I want to look at the letter again.”
“You had better not,” Lemuel persisted. “Morphew’s going to write a book against you—and he asks me to get it published at our place. I’m on his side, you know; I shall do my best to help him; I can lay my hand on literary fellows who will lick his style into shape—it will be an awful exposure!” Benjulia still held out his hand. With over-acted reluctance, Lemuel unbuttoned his coat. The distant dog barked again as he gave the letter back. “Please excuse my dear old dog,” he said with maudlin tenderness; “the poor dumb animal seems to know that I’m taking his side in the controversy. Bow-wow means, in his language, Fie upon the cruel hands that bore holes in our head and use saws on our backs. Ah, Nathan, if you have got any dogs in that horrid place of yours, pat them and give them their dinner! You never heard me talk like this before—did you? I’m a new man since I joined the Society for suppressing you. Oh, if I only had the gift of writing!”
The effect of this experiment on his brother’s temper, failed to fulfil Lemuel’s expectations. The doctor’s curiosity was roused on the doctor’s own subject of inquiry.
“You’re quite right about one thing,” said Benjulia gravely; “I never heard you talk in this way before. You suggest some interesting considerations, of the medical sort. Come to the light.” He led Lemuel to the window—looked at him with the closest attention—and carefully consulted his pulse. Lemuel smiled. “I’m not joking,” said Benjulia sternly. “Tell me this. Have you had headaches lately? Do you find your memory failing you?”
As he put those questions, he thought to himself—seriously thought—“Is this fellow’s brain softening? I wish I had him on my table!”
Lemuel persisted in presenting himself under a sentimental aspect. He had not forgiven his elder brother’s rudeness yet—and he knew, by experience, the one weakness in Benjulia’s character which, with his small resources, it was possible to attack.
“Thank you for your kind inquiries,” he replied. “Never mind my head, so long as my heart’s in the right place. I don’t pretend to be clever—but I’ve got my feelings; and I could put some awkward questions on what you call Medical Research, if I had Morphew to help me.”
“I’ll help you,” said Benjulia—interested in developing the state of his brother’s brain.
“I don’t believe you,” said Lemuel—interested in developing the state of his brother’s temper.
“Try me, Lemuel.”