Dr. Joseph Bell

“ Mr. Redhorn sighed. "It's no' that I grudge the puir wee innocents their mugs, but... Aweel, I suppose I should be thenkfu' that the baby born in Fairport the ither day—Finlay Thomson's—was o' the female gender." He paused for a moment. "I consulted the doctor confedentially yesterday, an' it was encouragin' to hear that he had nae prognostications o' further juvenile arrivals afore the Spring. Maybe by that time the name 'Joseph' 'll be oot o' fashion. Of course the doctor couldna guarantee—"
"I've moved," said Willie, a trifle impatiently. ”

“ He reached down his hand in the dark, and felt the comforting lick. Then the terrier made springs at the edge of the bed. "Was ye wantin' up? Was ye feelin' lanesome? Come then!" He drew her up to him. She nestled against him, licking his face.
"Oh, wee dug," he whispered, "ye've surely got a soul, for it's only the things wi' souls that feel lanesome."
On the fifth and following nights she slept on the bed. Joseph continued to rest well, but his days were unsettled by hopes and fears—hopes that the owner might never turn up, fears lest he should arrive at any moment. ”

“ McNab seated himself, looked about him, grinned and rubbed his hands. "I'm no' gaun to bide a meenute, Joseph. I merely drapped in to bid ye come an' ha'e yer supper wi' us the nicht."
"Aw!" exclaimed Mr. Redhorn, who was more used to entertaining than to being entertained. He stroked his long nose and blinked doubtingly at his visitor.
"I'm no' jokin'," said Mr. McNab. "The auld wife has made a pie, an' I've got a gran' surprise for ye!"
"Weel, I'm sure it's excessively kind o' ye," the painter said, recovering confidence in himself and humanity generally. ”

“ McNab created a welcome diversion.
"And noo for the gran' surprise!" he cried. "Joseph, what dae ye think we're for namin' ma great-gran'son?"
"Whisht, man!" said old Mrs. McNab; "ye maun ask Maister Ridhorn's leave first."
"Tits, wife! Ye dinna need to ask leave to pay a man a compliment." He dug the painter in the ribs. "Ma great-gran'son's name is to be Joseph—efter yer noble sel'!"
Mr. Redhorn gasped. "Me!" he cried in dire confusion, as red as a turkey-cock. ”

“ McNab, "it's terrible warm the day!" He cast a wistful glance in the direction of a certain cupboard.
"It is that," agreed Joseph, turning on the tap. "It's no' the weather for ginger-wine, or I wud—"
"There's a chill in the heat, too," said Mr. MdNab. "If ye was as auld as me—"
"Wud ye try a taste o' ginger-wine, John?"
"Oh, weel, I'm no parteec'lar; but I'll tak' a taste—for comp'ny's sake. I'll wait till ye've feenished washin' yer face." ”

“ Mr. McNab said condescendingly, and quite unconsciously smacked his lips. "Ye'll be wonderin' what that gran' surprise is," he remarked presently.
"'Deed, ay," returned Joseph, who was much afraid it would be something to eat in addition to the pie. "But I'm curbin' ma' curiosity."
Mr. McNab gave a hoarse but happy chuckle. "Ma gran'son Peter an' his wife arrived the day," he announced. "Likewise their offspring."
"D'ye tell me that?" said Mr. Redhorn, from behind a towel. "Is the offspring numerous?" he inquired in a tone of well-feigned interest. ”

“ Mr. Redhorn looked pleased. "Wha was the appreciator o' ma modest creation?"
"I canna mind, but I heard it sure enough. And that reminds me, I was gaun to tell ye, Ridhorn, that the greenhooses up thonder are due a coat o' pent, and I was thinkin' I wud gi'e a hint to Sir Archibald to let you ha'e the job—that is, if ye're wantin' it."
"Man," cried Joseph, "that's exceedin' kind o' ye. I'll be glad to ha'e the job, for the prospec's o' trade in Fairport are no' brilliant at the moment. Thenk ye, thenk ye!" ”

“ Thomas shook his head. "Danks there is daein' his best to keep up appearances. His cronies ken naething aboot his affairs; naebody in Fairport does, excep' you an' me an' twa-three ithers. But the man's in a bad way—desperate for cash.... Aweel, I've warned ye, Joseph, an' the subjec' is closed at ween us."
"An' I'm obleeged to ye, Tammas, though in a way yer warnin' 's wasted, for Danks wud never come to me—no' if he was on the verge of bankruptcy. Weel, I'll be movin' hame." The painter recovered hold of his parcel, bade his friend goodnight, and left the office. ”

“ A little later, Joseph Redhorn rose stiffly. His face was ghastly in the lamplight; his pale blue eyes were glazed and strange. He wiped his wet brow, muttering—"God, it's nae use. I couldna thole anither day.... There'll be naebody aboot noo.... I'll mak' an end—A man that doesna matter to onybody—doesna matter to onybody." ”

“ Any grown-up person in Fairport could have told you how once, for a period of years, the painter, apart from his day's work, had appeared to be a confirmed recluse, and such a person could also, doubtless, have proffered theories to account for this choice of solitude. The simple facts are these: Joseph had always been too shy to be what is commonly termed sociable, and when he first shut himself up, the neighbours made no attempt to disturb him. ”

“ Joseph, ha'e ye ony extra bad language?"
"Ma sympathy is nane the weaker for bein' dumb, John," replied the painter. "It was indeed, as ye observe, a costly nap. In some o' the new London hotels—see advertizements—ye wud likely ha'e got breakfast thrown in, an' maybe a bath into the bargain.... But what are we to say to the guidwife, John?"
"Oh, she'll jist ha'e to get the truth—what there is o' it. Maybe the nap was a judgment on me. I'm sorry I vexed her.... But—as I've said afore—a man maun ha'e his fling." ”

“ Redhorn wearily. "I'm no' interrested in Danks this evenin'—even if he has been playin' another o' his dirty tricks on me. I'm no' interrested in ony human bein', nor in onything animal, vegetable or mineral, excep' Joseph Ridhorn. I'm ower wearied. So I'll bid ye guid nicht, or adieu—whichever ye prefer."
"Haud on, man!" cried the piermaster, catching him by the sleeve. "I'm gled to hear ye say ye're no' interrested in Peter Danks!" The words were uttered most impressively.
"Eh?" Mr. Redhorn's expression became more alert. ”

“ Other men besides Joseph Redhorn have in such wise been pressed to the verge—and over.
It was one of those nights which we may call—according to our mood—late autumn or early winter. A tempest of wind and rain raged over the loch. Doors and windows rattled, chimney-cans toppled, slates and tiles hurtled from the village roofs. Fairport, save one man, was abed, for the hour was late, yet Fairport for the greater part was awake, quaking. ”

“ I NAMESAKES MR. JOSEPH REDHORN, the Fairport painter, paper-hanger and decorator, as he was given to styling himself, was never in the best of humours when roused from a Saturday afternoon nap; and on this occasion his irritation was not lessened by the discovery of Mr. John McNab, the reputed oldest inhabitant, on the doorstep of his bachelor abode. So far as Joseph's experience went, a visit from Mr. McNab meant little more than a dreary dissertation on the latter's great age and a notable shrinkage in the former's stock of ginger-wine. ”

“ Redhorn looked at his apprentice. "Jist you gang hame an' tell that to yer mither, an' see what she says," he said gently.
When Willie had gone he resumed stirring the paint.
"Five weans!" he murmured. "Criftens! that's a handicap—on Joseph Ridhorn!"
Few things evaporate so quickly as the public's interest in an individual; few so slowly as the individual's interest in the public. For a week or so Fairport wondered about P. Smith. ”

“ It is doubtful if he understood the explanation of the beautiful lady in the costly furs, or if he noticed the great car with the pale gentleman in the tonneau. They belonged to a distant town. A fortnight ago they had been motoring through the district. During a stoppage some miles south of Fairport, the terrier has disappeared, unnoticed. Many miles north of Fairport they had met with an accident. The gentleman had been seriously injured. The terrier had been forgotten at first then advertised for—and so on and so on.... What did it all matter to Joseph Redhorn? ”

“ I, John Forgie, Plumber, of Fairport, being of sound mind and sober, doth hereby promise, in the presence of Joseph Redhorn, Painter, Paperhanger and Decorator, also of Fairport, to solemnly abstain now and for evermore from all self-indulgence in all manner and species of intoxicating beverages, including Whisky, Brandy, Beer, Rum, Port, Sherry, &c., &c., &c. Given at Fairport on the 3rd day of March, 1913, A.D. Witness my hand and seal. God save the King. ”

“ The elder boy was enjoying a lump of putty as big as his head, and the younger, having lately removed the pendulum from the eight-day clock, was gazing fascinated at the venerable thing's crazy performance. ”

“ Mr. Redhorn shook his head, wishing he had said less—or, better, nothing whatever—about picture palaces to the old man. He looked at his watch. "We ha'e twinty-five meenutes till the boat comes," he said, "so we'll jist step up to ma hoose an' ha'e a dish o' tea. I left a guid fire. Come awa', Mistress McNab. Keep up yer heart. We'll find yer guid man safe an' soun', or ma name's no' Joseph Ridhorn. An' I wud humbly implore ye no' to be severe wi' him. To err is human, etceetera."
*****
An hour later they stood on Gourock pier. The painter was nervous. ”

“ The youngest got tired, and demanded to be carried, and eventually the painter, who had never in his life held a child, picked him up awkwardly, and bore him along with nervous care, pulling faces unconsciously and perspiring profusely. All the way Jessie clutched his jacket with one hand, while with the other she warmed her precious piece of silver. Evidently she already regarded the giver no less than the gift as her especial property.
Mr. Redhorn entered the village with acute misgivings. ”

“ Redhorn's depression, it was far from being entirely due to the depression of Jingoes. To lose money was as little agreeable to the painter as it is to most men, but to lose reputation was a still more serious calamity. The thought of his neighbours regarding him as a "sportsman" rankled horribly. He might just as well, he acknowledged bitterly to himself, have put his money on horses ”

“ He shut himself up to begin with because he had fallen into a most miserable state of health; he continued to shut himself up because in his natural melancholy and loneliness he allowed his bodily wretchedness to become spiritual. ”

“ He lay back in his easy-chair, gazing vacantly yet fixedly at the cigarette of the worst possible quality which he held between his finger and thumb, and which had gone out some minutes ago. He breathed heavily through his long nose. ”

“ A month of comfort, physical and mental, had removed the harassed expression from her wizened, homely countenance; she no longer looked much more than her age, which was forty-three. To Mr. Redhorn, however, she, standing in her doorway, appeared the same as ever, for it is to be remembered that he and she were as strange to each other as two people in a small community like Fairport may be. ”

“ Gor! it's a queer world." He passed on, leaving the painter dazed.
Mr. Forgie disembarked from the evening steamer without that glassiness of eye which usually distinguished him immediately after a trip to the city. At the same time he looked far from cheerful, and expressed himself to Mr. Redhorn as being "fair meeserable."
"Never heed, John," said the painter comfortingly, as they left the pier. "Ye'll sune get used to it. Temperance, like mony anither guid thing, is an acquired taste."
"I believe ye!" returned the novice bitterly. "Weel, did ye see her?" ”

“ The painter was not the sort of man who finds entertainment in prying into and discussing his neighbours' business; indeed, he shrank from revelations of all kinds, but more especially from those of an unhappy nature. So he made no enquiries and let the matter slip from his mind, gladly enough.
On the evening of the first of April Mr. Redhorn sat at his untidy fireside trying to darn a sock. The atmosphere around him was redolent of eucalyptus. He was beginning to recover from what he called his "annual Spring cauld in the heid," which had kept him indoors for the past three days. ”

“ VI A BID FOR FAME "HEY! Hold on!" cried the apprentice so sharply that Mr. Redhorn dropped his brush and all but fell from the ladder.
Recovering his balance, the painter, with natural enough irritation, but with unwonted asperity, exclaimed: "What the mischief did ye yell like that for, laddie? I micht ha'e broke ma neck." ”

“ Some expressed the opinion that the opposition would serve him right, others the pious hope that it might improve the quality of his workmanship and materials.
"It'll maybe learn him to feenish his jobs when he says he'll feenish them," said old Miss McPhun, who for seven weary years had been disputing the correctness of an account for painting a hen-house. ”

“ Redhorn smoked a cigarette of the worst possible quality and meditated on the pleasantness that had so unexpectedly befallen him.
"My, but youth's a bonny thing," he said to himself. "There's something aboot a young female's kindness that's different frae a' ither human kindnesses. 'Deed, it's worth ha'ein a game leg for—nearly."
On her return Agnes proceeded to tidy up, which is a mild way of putting it, since she began with a general upheaval.
"Here, stop it!" exclaimed the painter. "I canna let ye kill yersel'. It's no' the Spring, onyway!" ”

“ Redhorn, so gratifying to Mr. Danks, became known. Mr. Redhorn, being the sort of man who does not become popular until death has covered a few little weaknesses and uncovered many good deeds, was not an object for the united sympathy of the villagers and owners of villas in the vicinity. ”