Japhet, In Search Of A Father Part 1 by Frederick Marryat (read people like a book .TXT) 📕

That You Gave Me Here For My Back,  And It Left Me As Raw As A Turnip,

Taking Every Bit Of My Skin Off Me Entirely,  Foreby My Lying In bed For

A Whole Week,  And Losing My Day'S Work."

"I Really Do Not Recollect Supplying You With A Plaister,  My Good Man,"

Replied Mr Brookes.

"Then By The Piper That Played Before Moses,  If You Don'T Recollect It,

I'Ve An Idea That I Shall Never Forget It. Sure Enough,  It Cured Me,  But

Wasn'T I Quite Kilt Before I Was Cured?"

"It Must Have Been Some Other Shop," Observed Mr Brookes. "You Have Made

A Mistake."

"Devil A Bit Of A Mistake,  Except In Selling Me The Plaister. Didn'T I

Get It Of A Lad In This Same Shop?"

"Nobody Sells Things Out Of This Shop Without My Knowledge."

The Irishman Was Puzzled--He Looked Round The Shop. "Well,  Then,  If This

A'N'T The Shop,  It Was Own Sister To It."

"Timothy," Called Mr Brookes.

"And Sure Enough There Was A Timothy In The Other Shop,  For I Heard The

Boy Call The Other By The Name; However,  It'S No Matter,  If It Took Off

The Skin,  It Also Took Away The Thumbago,  So The Morning To You,  Mr

Pottykarry."

When The Irishman Departed,  We Made Our Appearance. "Japhet,  Did You

Sell A Plaister To An Irishman?"

"Yes--Don'T You Recollect,  Last Saturday? And I Gave You The Shilling."

"Very True; But What Did He Ask For?"

"He Asked For A Plaister,  But He Was Very Tipsy. I Showed Him A Blister,

And He Took It;" And Then I Looked At Timothy And Laughed.

"You Must Not Play Such Tricks," Said Mr Brookes. "I See What You Have

Been About--It Was A Joke To You,  But Not To Him."

Mr Brookes,  Who Imagined We Had Sold It To The Irishman Out Of Fun,  Then

Gave Us A Very Severe Lecture,  And Threatened To Acquaint Mr Cophagus,

If Ever We Played Such Tricks Again. Thus The Affair Blew Over,  And It

Made Me Very Careful; And,  As Every Day I Knew More About Medicines,  I

Was Soon Able To Mix Them,  So As To Be Of Service To Those Who Applied,

And Before Eighteen Months Had Expired,  I Was Trusted With The Mixing Up

All The Prescriptions. At The End Of That Period Mr Brookes Left Us,  And

I Took The Whole Of His Department Upon Myself,  Giving Great

Satisfaction To Mr Cophagus.

And Now That I Have Announced My Promotion,  It Will Perhaps Be As Well

That I Give The Reader Some Idea Of My Personal Appearance,  Upon Which I

Have Hitherto Been Silent. I Was Thin,  Between Fifteen And Sixteen Years

Old,  Very Tall For My Age,  And Of My Figure I Had No Reason To Be

Ashamed; A Large Beaming Eye,  With A Slightly Aquiline Nose,  A High

Forehead,  Fair In complexion,  But With Very Dark Hair. I Was Always What

May Be Termed A Remarkably Clean-Looking Boy,  From The Peculiarity Of My

Skin And Complexion; My Teeth Were Small,  But Were Transparent,  And I

Had A Very Deep Dimple In My Chin. Like All Embryo Apothecaries,  I

Carried In My Appearance,  If Not The Look Of Wisdom,  Most Certainly That

Of Self-Sufficiency,  Which Does Equally Well With The World In General.

My Forehead Was Smooth,  And Very White,  And My Dark Locks Were Combed

Back Systematically,  And With A Regularity That Said,  As Plainly As Hair

Could Do,  "The Owner Of This Does Everything By Prescription,

Measurement,  And Rule." With My Long Fingers I Folded Up The Little

Packets,  With An Air As Thoughtful And Imposing As That Of A Minister

Who Has Just Presented A Protocol As Interminable As Unintelligible: And

The Look Of Solemn Sagacity With Which I Poured Out The Contents Of One

Vial Into The Other,  Would Have Well Become The King'S Physician,  When

He Watched The "Lord'S Anointed" In _Articulo Mortis_.

As I Followed Up My Saturnine Avocation,  I Generally Had An Open Book On

The Counter Beside Me; Not A Marble-Covered Dirty Volume,  From The

Minerva Press,  Or A Half-Bound,  Half-Guinea'S Worth Of Fashionable

Trash,  But A Good,  Honest,  Heavy-Looking,  Wisdom-Implying Book,  Horribly

Stuffed With Epithet Of Drug; A Book In Which Latin Words Were

Redundant,  And Here And There Were To Be Observed The Crabbed Characters

Of Greek. Altogether,  With My Book And My Look,  I Cut Such A Truly

Medical Appearance,  That Even The Most Guarded Would Not Have Hesitated

To Allow Me The Sole Conduct Of A Whitlow,  From Inflammation To

Suppuration,  And From Suppuration To Cure,  Or Have Refused To Have

Confided To Me The Entire Suppression Of A Gumboil. Such Were My

Personal Qualifications At The Time That I Was Raised To The Important

Office Of Dispenser Of,  I May Say,  Life And Death.

It Will Not Surprise The Reader When I Tell Him That I Was Much Noticed

By Those Who Came To Consult,  Or Talk With,  Mr Cophagus. "A Very Fine

Looking Lad That,  Mr Cophagus," An Acquaintance Would Say. "Where Did

You Get Him--Who Is His Father?"

"Father!" Mr Cophagus Would Reply,  When They Had Gained The

Back Parlour,  But I Could Overhear Him,  "Father,  Um--Can'T

Tell--Love--Concealment--Child Born--Foundling Hospital--Put Out--And So

On."

This Was Constantly Occurring,  And The Constant Occurrence Made Me

Often Reflect Upon My Condition,  Which Otherwise I Might,  From The Happy

And Even Tenor Of My Life,  Have Forgotten. When I Retired To My Bed I

Would Revolve In My Mind All That I Had Gained From The Governors Of The

Hospital Relative To Myself.--The Paper Found In The Basket Had Been

Given To Me. I Was Born In Wedlock--At Least,  So Said That Paper. The

Sum Left With Me Also Proved That My Parents Could Not,  At My Birth,

Have Been Paupers. The Very Peculiar Circumstances Attending My Case,

Only Made Me More Anxious To Know My Parentage. I Was Now Old Enough To

Be Aware Of The Value Of Birth,  And I Was Also Just Entering The Age Of

Romance,  And Many Were The Strange And Absurd Reveries In Which I

Indulged. At One Time I Would Cherish The Idea That I Was Of A Noble,  If

Not Princely Birth,  And Frame Reasons For Concealment. At Others--But It

Is Useless To Repeat The Absurdities And Castle Buildings Which Were

Generated In My Brain From Mystery. My Airy Fabrics Would At Last

Disappear,  And Leave Me In all The Misery Of Doubt And Abandoned Hope.

Mr Cophagus,  When The Question Was Sometimes Put To Him,  Would Say,

"Good Boy--Very Good Boy--Don'T Want A Father." But He Was Wrong,  I Did

Want A Father; And Every Day The Want Became More Pressing,  And I Found

Myself Continually Repeating The Question,  "_Who Is My Father?_"

     Very Much Puzzled With A New Patient,  Nevertheless Take My Degree

     At Fifteen As An M.D.; And What Is Still More Acceptable,  I Pocket

     The Fees.

The Departure Of Mr Brookes,  Of Course,  Rendered Me More Able To Follow

Up With Timothy My Little Professional Attempts To Procure Pocket-Money;

But Independent Of These Pillages By The Aid Of Pills,  And Making Drafts

Upon Our Master'S Legitimate Profits,  By The Assistance Of Draughts From

His Shop,  Accident Shortly Enabled Me To Raise The Ways And Means In a

More Rapid Manner. But Of This Directly.

In The Meantime I Was Fast Gaining Knowledge; Every Evening I Read

Surgical And Medical Books,  Put Into My Hands By Mr Cophagus,  Who

Explained Whenever I Applied To Him,  And I Soon Obtained A Very Fair

Smattering Of My Profession. He Also Taught Me How To Bleed,  By Making

Me,  In The First Instance,  Puncture Very Scientifically,  All The Larger

Veins Of A Cabbage-Leaf,  Until Well Satisfied With The Delicacy Of My

Hand,  And The Precision Of My Eye,  He Wound Up His Instructions By

Permitting Me To Breathe A Vein In His Own Arm.

"Well," Said Timothy,  When He First Saw Me Practising,  "I Have Often

Heard It Said,  There'S No Getting Blood Out Of A Turnip; But It Seems

There Is More Chance With A Cabbage. I Tell You What,  Japhet,  You May

Try Your Hand Upon Me As Much As You Please,  For Two-Pence A Go."

I Consented To This Arrangement,  And By Dint Of Practising On Timothy

Over And Over Again,  I Became Quite Perfect. I Should Here Observe,  That

My Anxiety Relative To My Birth Increased Every Day,  And That In One Of

The Books Lent Me By Mr Cophagus,  There Was A Dissertation Upon The

Human Frame,  Sympathies,  Antipathies,  And Also On Those Features And

Peculiarities Most Likely To Descend From One Generation To Another. It

Was There Asserted,  That The _Nose_ Was The Facial Feature Most Likely

To Be Transmitted From Father To Son. As I Before Have Mentioned,  My

Nose Was Rather Aquiline; And After I Had Read This Book,  It Was

Surprising With What Eagerness I Examined The Faces Of Those Whom I Met;

And If I Saw A Nose Upon Any Man'S Face,  At All Resembling My Own,  I

Immediately Would Wonder And Surmise Whether That Person Could Be My

Father. The Constant Dwelling Upon The Subject At Last Created A Species

Of Monomania,  And A Hundred Times A Day I Would Mutter To Myself,  _"Who

Is My Father?"_ Indeed,  The Very Bells,  When They Rung A Peal,  Seemed,

As In The Case Of Whittington,  To Chime The Question,  And At Last I

Talked So Much On