My Doggie and I by R. M. Ballantyne (series like harry potter TXT) 📕

It was a considerable time after the fire before my leg permitted me to resume my studies and my duties among the poor. Meanwhile I had become a regularly-established inmate of Mr Dobson’s house, and was half-jocularly styled “Dr McTougall’s assistant.”

I confess that I had some hesitation at first in accepting such generous hospitality, but, feeling that I could not help myself till my leg should recover, I became reconciled to it. Then, as time advanced, the doctor—who was an experimental chemist, as well as a Jack-of-all-trades—found me so useful to him in his laboratory, that I felt I was really earning my board and lodging. Meanwhile Lilly Blythe had been sent to visit an aunt of Dr McTougall’s in Kent for the benefit of her health.

This was well. I felt it to be so. I knew that her presence would have a disturbing influence on my studies, which were by that time nearly completed. I felt, also, that it was madness in me to fall in love with a girl whom I could not hope to marry for years, even if she were willing to have me at all, which I very much doubted.

I therefore resolved to put the subject away from me, and devote myself heartily to my profession, in the spirit of that Word which tells us that whatsoever our hands find to do we should do it with our might.

Success attended my efforts. I passed all my examinations with credit, and became not only a fixture in the doctor’s family, but as he earnestly assured me, a very great help to him.

Of course I did not mention the state of my feelings towards Lilly Blythe to any one—not being in the habit of having confidants—except indeed, to Dumps. In the snug little room just over the front door, which had been given to me as a study, I was wont to pour out many of my secret thoughts to my doggie, as he sat before me with cocked ears and demonstrative tail.

“You’ve been the making of me, Dumps,” said I, one evening, not long after I had reached the first round of the ladder of my profession. “It was you who introduced me to Lilly Blythe, and through her to Dr McTougall, and you may be sure I shall never forget that! Nay, you must not be too demonstrative. When your mistress left you under my care she said, half-jocularly, no doubt that I was not to steal your heart from her. Wasn’t that absurd, eh? As if any heart could be stolen from her! Of course I cannot regain your heart, Dumps, and I will not even attempt it—‘Honour bright,’ as Robin Slidder says. By the way, that reminds me that I promised to go down to see old Mrs Willis this very night, so I’ll leave you to the tender mercies of the little McTougalls.”

As I walked down the Strand my last remark to Dumps recurred to me, and I could not help smiling as I thought of the “tender mercies” to which I had referred. The reader already knows that the juvenile McTougalls were somewhat bloodthirsty in their notions of play. When Dumps was introduced to their nursery—by that time transferred from Dobson’s dining-room to an upper floor—they at once adopted him with open arms. Dumps seemed to be willing, and, fortunately, turned out to be a dog of exceptionally good-nature. He was also tough. No amount of squeezing, bruising, pulling of the ears or tail, or falling upon him, either accidentally or on purpose, could induce him to bite. He did, indeed, yell hideously at times, when much hurt, and he snarled, barked, yelped, growled, and showed his teeth continually, but it was all in play, for he was dearly fond of romps.

Fortunately, the tall nurse had been born without nerves. She was wont to sit serene in a corner, darning innumerable socks, while a tornado was going on around her. Dumps became a sort of continual sacrifice. On all occasions when a criminal was to be decapitated, a burglar hanged, or a martyr burned, Dumps was the victim; and many a time was he rescued from impending and real death by the watchful nurse, who was too well aware of the innocent ignorance of her ferocious charges to leave Dumps entirely to their tender mercies.

On reaching Mrs Willis’s little dwelling, I found young Slidder officiating at the tea-table. I could not resist watching him a moment through a crack in the door before entering.

“Now then,” said he, “’ere you are! Set to work, old Sneezer, with a will!”

The boy had got into a facetious way of calling Mrs Willis by any term of endearment that suggested itself at the moment, which would have been highly improper and disrespectful if it had not been the outflow of pure affection.

The crack in the door was not large enough to permit of my seeing Mrs Willis herself as she sat in her accustomed window with the spout-and-chimney-pot view. I could only see the withered old hand held tremblingly out for the smoking cup of tea, which the boy handed to her with a benignant smile, and I could hear the soft voice say— “Thank you, Robin—dear boy—so like!”

“I tell you what it is, granny,” returned Slidder, with a frown, “I’ll give you up an’ ’and you over to the p’leece if you go on comparin’ me to other people in that way.—Now, then, ’ave some muffins. They’re all ’ot and soaked in butter, old Gummy, just the wery thing for your teeth. Fire away, now! Wot’s the use o’ me an’ Dr McTougall fetchin’ you nice things if you won’t eat ’em?”

“But I will eat ’em, Robin, thankfully.”

“That ain’t the way, old ’ooman,” returned the boy, helping himself largely to the viands which he so freely dispensed; “it’s not thankfully, but heartily, you ought to eat ’em.”

“Both, Robin, both.”

“Not at all, granny. We asked a blessin’ fust, now, didn’t we? Vell, then, wot we’ve to do next is to go in and win heartily. Arter that it’s time enough to be thankful.”

“What a boy it is!” responded Mrs Willis.

I saw the withered old hand disappear with a muffin in it in the direction of the old mouth, and at this point I entered.

“The wery man I wanted to see,” exclaimed Slidder, jumping up with what I thought unusual animation, even for him.

“Come along, doctor, just in time for grub. Mrs W hain’t eat up all the muffins yet. Fresh cup an’ saucer; clean plate; ditto knife; no need for a fork; now then, sit down.”

Accepting this hearty invitation, I was soon busy with a muffin, while Mrs Willis gave a slow, elaborate, and graphic account of the sayings and doings of Master Slidder, which account, I need hardly say, was much in his favour, and I am bound to add that he listened to it with pleased solemnity.

“Now then, old flatterer, w’en you’ve quite done, p’raps you’ll tell the doctor that I wants a veek’s leave of absence, an’ then, p’raps you’ll listen to what him an’ me’s got to say on that p’int. Just keep a stuffin’ of yourself with muffins, an’ don’t speak.”

The old lady nodded pleasantly, and began to eat with apparently renewed appetite, while I turned in some surprise.

“A week’s leave of absence?” said I.

“Just so—a veek’s leave of absence—furlow if you prefers to call it so. The truth is, I wants a ’oliday wery bad. Granny says so, an’ I thinks she’s right. D’you think my constitootion’s made o’ brass, or cast-iron, or bell-metal, that I should be able to york on an’ on for ever, black, black, blackin’ boots an’ shoes, without a ’oliday? W’y, lawyers, merchants, bankers—even doctors—needs a ’oliday now an’ then; ’ow much more shoeblacks!”

“Well,” said I, with a laugh, “there is no reason why shoeblacks should not require and desire a holiday as much as other people, only it’s unusual—because they cannot afford it, I suppose.”

“Ah! ‘that’s just w’ere the shoe pinches’—as a old gen’leman shouted to me t’other day, with a whack of his umbreller, w’en I scrubbed ’is corns too hard. ‘Right you are, old stumps,’ says I, ‘but you’ll have to pay tuppence farden hextra for that there whack, or be took up for assault an’ battery.’ D’you know that gen’leman larfed, he did, like a ’iaena, an’ paid the tuppence down like a man. I let ’im off the farden in consideration that he ’adn’t got one, an’ I had no change.—Vell, to return to the p’int—vich was wot the old toper remarked to his wife every night—I’ve bin savin’ up of late.”

“Saving up, have you?”

“Yes, them penny banks ’as done it. W’y, it ain’t a wirtue to be savin’ now-a-days, or good, or that sort o’ thing. What between city missionaries, an’ Sunday-schools, an’ penny banks, an cheap wittles, and grannies like this here old sneezer, it’s hardly possible for a young feller to go wrong, even if he was to try. Yes, I’ve bin an’ saved enough to give me a veek’s ’oliday, so I’m goin’ to ’ave my ’oliday in the north. My ’ealth requires it.”

Saying this, young Slidder began to eat another muffin with a degree of zest that seemed to give the lie direct to his assertion, so