I caught him by the coat and put on a fourteen-stone
drag, while the horse dealer (who was as white as a
cheese) ran off with his horse into the street.
Cullingworth broke away from my grip, and cursing
incoherently, his face slobbered with blood, and his
hatchet waving over his head, he rushed out of the yard--
the most diabolical looking ruffian you can imagine.
However, luckily for the dealer, he had got a good start,
and Cullingworth was persuaded to come back and wash his
face. We bound up his cut, and found him little the
worse, except in his temper. But for me he would most
certainly have paid seventy pounds for his insane
outburst of rage against the animal.
I daresay you think it strange that I should write so
much about this fellow and so little about anybody
else; but the fact is, that I know nobody else, and that
my whole circle is bounded by my patients, Cullingworth
and his wife. They visit nobody, and nobody visits them.
My living with them brings the same taboo from my brother
doctors upon my head, although I have never done anything
unprofessional myself. Who should I see in the street
the other day but the McFarlanes, whom you will remember
at Linlithgow? I was foolish enough to propose to Maimie
McFarlane once, and she was sensible enough to refuse me.
What I should have done had she accepted me, I can't
imagine; for that was three years ago, and I have more
ties and less prospect of marriage now than then.
Pages:
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158