“I then proceeded to tell him everything that had been related to Harry and me by Dabbs and Tadpoddle.
“‘That proof will convict her beyond question, unless it can be overthrown by other proof, and it would have to be unquestionable evidence to do that. We shall be driven to the plea of insanity—this is the dernier ressort, and is rather a shaky foundation to build hopes upon. It is most unfortunate that Harry should have fallen in love with Miss Bramlett; poor fellow, it is a heavy blow to him, and I agree with you as to the propriety of getting him off to California as soon as possible. It is truly his duty to go to his uncle without delay, and I shall mention the subject to him as soon as his mind gets composed. He is in an unsettled condition just now.’
“‘Do you think he will go, Mr. Rockland?’
“‘Oh, yes, he will do anything I request him to. He has been a kind, obedient son to me, and my wishes have always been law with him. Ah, me! I love the dear boy, and it is causing me great pain to see him suffering so. He seems to be perfectly reckless since Miss Bramlett’s troubles began—neglects his duties, stares wildly at space for hours at a time in silence, eats scarcely anything and is as pale as a ghost. His mother is in despair about it, and a general gloom pervades the premises. Something must be done, and that without delay. He shall start to California next Monday. That will rouse him and take his mind off of this painful subject.’
“Having finished my business with Mr. Rockland, I went back to the jail to report progress to Lottie.
CHAPTER XIX.
“Monday had come and gone, and Harry was on his way to California. Viola was quite ill, Lottie in distress, and my mind by no means free of trouble.
“‘Here we come, Eddie, my boy,’ said Doctor Dodson, as he came bustling into the drug-store one morning soon after breakfast. ‘Ah, ha! my boy, things are all wrong, all wrong, sir. That’s always the case; one thing goes wrong, everything must follow suit, you know—ah, ha! don’t you see how it is, my boy? Miss Bramlett, poor thing, very ill—threatened with brain fever—killing herself with grief about Wallingford—Lottie wearing herself out with continual watching—breaking her heart about other people’s troubles—don’t sleep enough—eats not enough to support life in a snow-bird. Ah, ha! my boy, don’t you see how it is? Then, to cap the climax of errors, here’s Dabbs and Tadpoddle nosing round and stirring up slander, and those two hateful old maids are retailing it out where they think it will do the most harm. Ah, ha! my boy, do you know those two detestable old hags? No, of course you don’t; I allude to Miss Jemima Tadpoddle and Jerusha Clattermouth. Ah, ha! Eddie, my boy, old Nick ought to have them both. Clatter, clatter go their tongues all day, slandering everybody and everything. They both have been to the jail, pretending to feel an interest in Miss Bramlett, and they have well-nigh killed the poor girl with their infernal tongues. Ah, ha! Eddie, my boy, don’t you see how it is? I wish their tongues were cut out and nailed on the jail door, as a warning to meddlesome gossips—that’s what I wish. Ah, ha! Eddie, my boy, Miss Tadpoddle is ill. Thank Heaven! I hope the town will have a little breathing spell while she is sick. The hateful hag has sent for me to visit her professionally. Ah, ha! my boy, I mean to send you in my place. She is the very sort for a young quack to practice on. No harm done if he kills her, don’t you see? Get yourself ready to go, my boy—give her something to silence her tongue, if you can. You’ll find a charming patient, my boy. Clattermouth is sure to be there—they are always together—birds of a feather—you know how it is yourself. Ah, ha! Eddie, my boy, be off now—stuff her full of medicine—pour in the calomel till you salivate her—that’s as nigh salvation as she will ever get. Go, my boy; cram her with emetics, then shovel in your purgatives. Don’t kill her, but prostrate her—stop her devilish tongue. Ah, ha! my boy, don’t you see? Go, go!’
“Of course I went, and when I entered Mr. Tadpoddle’s house I was immediately ushered into Miss Jemima’s room. I stood in the door a moment, while my eyes were busy taking a survey of the room and its contents. Miss Jemima Tadpoddle was propped up in bed with a dozen pillows, while Miss Jerusha Clattermouth was bathing her temples with eau-de-Cologne, and the sick woman’s mother was holding a smelling bottle to her nose. It is my deliberate opinion that if Shakespeare had seen those three women before he wrote ‘Macbeth,’ he would have made a better job of it, especially in the witch department.
“A feeling of disgust crept through me as I approached the bed where she was, and it cost me an effort to conceal my feelings. Her neck was not quite so long as that of a sandhill crane, but I can honestly say it was the longest neck I ever saw under a woman’s head, and it appeared to be entirely constructed of little round cords. Her skin was as white as snow, and if she had any veins in her body, they were not visible to the naked eye.