THE DARK-STREET MYSTERY.

South Canterbury Times, Issue 5029, 10 June 1889, Page 4

THE DARK-STREET MYSTERY.

LITERATURE- •

A DOCTOR’S STORY. Sitting by the fireside, was my deputy and general factotum, George Fairfax. It was George Fairfax who was now looking pale and worn, not I; and my heart had already reproached me, at first sight, with keeping him for so long a time at my unprofitable business. South London patients had palled upon him evidently, but he bad not uttered one word by way of protest. It would hardly have been George Fairfax if he had done so. ‘ Well, old man,’ he said cheerily; ‘so you re set up at last j and, by Jove, you abe looking well 1 ’ ‘ And you 7 ’ I asked j ‘ what of you and your health P ’ 1 Oh, I am always well,’ he said. ‘ Nothing ails me —nothing ails me—nothing ever did, could, would, or should, you know.’ ‘ I don’t know. I am afraid that vou have been overworked here, George.’ ‘ All the better for business if I had, my boy,’ he cried ; ‘ but there has been no such hick as overwork at your practice. Not that things have gone backward, as it were, for the want of the master hand ; but upon my soul, Arthur, it’s a beastly neighbourhood, and your patients are a seedy, greedy gang, take them in the lump. You’ll be sorry to hear that old Brown fen’s all right.’ ‘ No; I am glad,’ I said. * I like my patients to recover quickly; it's a good advertisement of one’s skill. And how’s the other patient ? ’ ‘ What other patient ? ’ he asked, with a keener glance at me than I had expected. I sat down by the fireside, and said : ‘Your aunt, who would not take advantage of the friendly offer ol your professional services,’ ‘‘Oh ! there’s the result of that piece of shortsightedness,’ he said, pointing to the mantel shelf, on which I noticed for the first time an envelope plastered round with the best black bordering, quite balf-an-incb thick. ‘Dead !’

‘ Yes. She died yesterday, Arthur,’ he explained; 4 and her lawyer and executor writes to me in great grief, and asks me to the funeral next Friday. And 1 shan’t go.’ ‘ Not go ? Perhaps she has left you something in her will, Gfeorge.’ ‘ That’s very likely. She was so uncommonly fond of me ! ’ And George leaned his head back over the chair, and roared with laughter at the bare supposition. There seemed to him something so inexpressibly droll in my suggestion that he laughed longer than there was any occasion for ; he was almost hysterical over it ; and bad it been any one save George Fairfax, I should have put down his hilarity to stimulants taken earlier in the evening. He caught my wondering stare at him, and hastened to change thu conversation. ‘ Wa may as well go over the books to-night, Arthur,’ he said; 4 if you take up the reins at once.’ 4 Yes, I take up the reins. But you must not run away.’ 4 And I have a suggestion to make after our palaver.’ We set to work at the books, to begin with, however. There was nothing elaborate in the statement of the accounts or the patients—a quarter ot an hour made everything very clear and explicit. After that time the real business of the evening—on the part of George Fairfax —followed very promptly. 4 Arthur, old man/ he said, 4 my idea is that you will never get on well in life till you take a partner in this slow-murder business,’ 4 A partner —eh ? ’ 4 Some one who can help you at a push—take a fair share of the hard work off your hands—make things go more easily l or you altogether.’ 4 The practice hardly keeps one, George ; two in it would simply starve.’ ‘ The practice can be extended,’ he argued; 4 a partner who can put in capital, start a carriage and pair, take a big house, might astonish this part of the world. What do you say to me for a partner ? ’ 4 You ! ’ 4 Am I wise enough for you ? Staid enough ? Friend enough ? ’ 4 Wise enough—certainly. Friend enough—yes.’ 4 Second query entirely ignored, I see,’ he said. 4 Wanting ballast. Too fly-away altogether—too slapdash of a man. Why don’t you out with it, Arthur ? ’ 4 1 will not say that. But I will say that 1 should never care for a partner in my profession ; he would only stand in my way, and have opinions different from my own, and stab and irritate me at every turn.’ ‘Why?’ 4 1 am a conceited man, with faith in my convictions and a doubt of every one else’s.’ 4 Ah ! you let loose all that bosh to salve me over,’ said George ; 4 but I understand well enough, I am not good enough for you.’ 4 Are you in earnest, then—really, wholly in earnest about this ? ’ 4 1 am, upon my honour! ’ 4 I am very sorry, George. I never thought ’ 4 1 should wish to settle down to anything, or could ever settle down. Yes, you have said this before in old days; when we were studs together, you gave mo the sharpest lecture I ever had in my life. You were a hit of a boy then, but I didn’t punch your bead for it—only thought next day what a brick you were.’ 4 1 don’t remember.’ 4 A partnership with you would have kept me straight—given me stability, moral equilibrium, and till that kind of thing.’ ‘ We should have got tp quarrelling, George, and I want to consider you always^as one of the truest and best of

my friends,’ I said, holding out my my hand to him again. ‘ I hope you understand me.’ He took my hand and wrung it in his own. ‘ Yes, Arthur, I think I do,’ he answered slowly. I was perplexed. Why did he, who had never been able to settle to anything long, wish to settle down with me—ol all men! —in a shabby back street of South London, where 1 worked desperately hard to earn my bread ? Why had he talked of a big house, a carriage and pair, of making a show, of a partner with money ? Was it possible that his aunt ‘ George,’ I asked, ‘ have you come into any portion of your aunt’s property ? ’ ‘ Into the whole blessed lot of it,’ he said coolly, and without looking my way. ‘ M.J dear old boy, lam so glad 1 I congratulate yen with ail my heart on your good fortune. I did not guess it.’ ‘ No ; you are deuced dull.’ * I did not dream of it.’ ‘ I suppose not. Well, will you have me for your partner now 7 ’ He said it tauntingly, not in his usual way; this, already, was a new Fairfax to me. How the mere acquisition of money will alter some poor lellows!

‘I have told you my ideas upon partnership, George ; and, rich or poor, 1 couldn’t have you chained to me.’ * Like a galley-slave—eh ?’ ‘ Have I not said, old pal, that you and I are going through the world to gether without an angry word? that is, if prosperity does not take you far away from me.’ ‘ It is like a millstone round my neck at present, and may drown me.’ ‘ Save you anything more to say ? ’ ‘ What do you mean ? ’ ‘You are like a man with something on his mind.’ ‘ I have something on ray mind.’ ‘ Then ’ ‘ And there it remains,’ he said. ‘ Had you met me in a different spirit, I would have told you.’ ‘ I am sorry I hrve offended you., ‘ I am not offended,’ he said quickly; ‘ don’t think that. lam a bit unsettled, perhaps, but I shall be all right in the morning.’ So we shook hands, and said ' Good night ’ again.

(To he Continued .)