Complete Story. Smitherson's Bite.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XXVIII, Issue XXI, 24 May 1902, Page 1002

Complete Story. Smitherson's Bite.

This ii the true explanation of how old Smitherson had hydrophobia, and yet did not have it. He was absolutely rabid on the subject of dogs. To hear one bark in the distance sent cold shivers down his back. To have one accidentally snuffle at the nether end of his garments gave him ague. For two whole years had this state of things lasted. Smitherson junior wanted to marry a certain little nurse of his acquaintance. Smitherson senior—approached on the subject—snapped his jaw, and put his foot down on the mere suggestion. “None of your confounded sentimental nonsense!” he roared. “You've got to marry Nora Johnstone within the next six months, or 1 cut you oft”—etc., etc. “Hark! Is that a dog I hear barking?” Smitherson junior took his woe to his special pal in town, a rising yioung West-end doctor, who had been responsible for the introduction of Smitherson to Nurse Elsie. “You’re in a bit of a mess, certainly,” said the doctor. "We’ll have to get you out of it, I suppose. I’m much too fond of Nurse Elsie to see her stuck on the shelf for the whim of an irritable old gentleman.”

He was reflective for some minutes.

“So the old chap hates nurses, does he?” he said, at last. “All right, we’ll send him one—Nurse Elsie for preference.”

“Oh, rot!” exclaimed Smitherson. “Can’t you discuss the matter sensibly, Foote ?” “It is sense, my dear fellow. Does the old ogre happen to possess any curious fancies about himself —about his health, I mean?” Smitherson junior laughed heartily, in spite of his dilemma. “Oh, lor, does he not! You should see him tumble to pieces when a dog barks. Two years ago a dog bit him. Off he went to Paris; got treated at the Pasteur Institute; came back a doddering old wreck, with an honest conviction that he Is going to die of hydrophobia. Has that nice, old-fashioned idea that if doggie isn’t mad when he bites it inevitably follows; and at the psychological moment of its happening hydrophobia appears in its former victims.”

After a few moments’ sober thinking Foote announced that it was the very thing. “What do you mean?” asked Smitherson.

“Wait and see. Take me down to spend the week - end with the old gentleman. If I don’t get you your little girl, and cure your uncle of his hydrophobia craze at the same time, I’ll hang myself out on a clothes-line as a warning to small boys.”

Foote found old Smitherson a firstrate subject for his projected scheme. He began to enter into the spirit of it with great zest. The old chap had only made two remarks since the doctor entered the house three hours since. The first, that he was pleased to welcome any friend of his rascally nephew’s. The second, that he felt absolutely sure he could hear a dog barking somewhere.

Towards the end of dinner Foote asked him anxiously if he felt quite well.

“Quite, sir,” he answered briefly. "I thought you were looking a little worried,” the doctor sad, innocently. “Indeed, I should imagine that you are on the verge of a nervous break-down.”

“Fiddlesticks!” snapped out old Smitherson rudely. Any allusion to his health invariably made him rude. "Were you ever bitten by a dog?” pursued Foote. Smitherson junior kicked his foot

under the table. Smitherson senior leapt out of his chair like a rocket. “Hang you, sir!” he screamed. “W hat the ”

Foote had laid hands on him before he could finish his sentence. The touch of the medical man was soothing in the extreme, as he forced Smitherson back into his chair.

“My dear sir, you will only hasten the symptoms if you excite yourself in this way,” he remarked. “ You have been bitten by a dog. I guessed it the first moment I saw you. The hydrophobia microbe is racing through your system now. _ Whether you succumb to it, or absolutely recover, rests with yourself.” Not a word was spoken in the room for three minutes. During the silence Smitherson junior decided that Foote was piling it on too thick and fast. He tried to give a furtive warning to this effect. Foote remained sublimely ignorant of his intention.

“ If you are wise,” he continued to the old man, “ you will let me treat you at once- lam an expert on the subject. Only trust me. and the attack will be a light one.” Smitherson junior wanted to laugh. His uncle was making a gurgling noise in his throat.

“ I knew it! I knew’ it!” he spluttered. “I’ve got it now! ” His eyes were wild. He stretched forth his hand, grabbed a decanter of v’ater, and smashed it on the floor. He emitted a sound like yapping. His nephew roared. Suddenly the old chap steadied himself. “ What the deuce did I do that for? ” he demanded, surveying the broken decanter and the stream of water on the carpet. “ Because, sir, I am afraid you have been stricken with hydrophobia,” said Foote, seriously. “It is one of the first symptoms to turn against water, and break the decanter.” “Oh lor! ” gasped Smitherson junior. “Will you take my advice?” went on the doctor. “ Will you let me treat you? I know everything there is to know. You will not regret it.” He was yapping again. His hand went out towards a second decanter. “ Look here, Foote,” said his nephew, in an undertone, “ stow it for to-night. You’ve gone far enough.” “ Well, sir? ” questioned Foote. ■Old Smitherson was now sitting bolt upright in his chair. “ You’re sure I’ve got it? ” he asked. “ I fear so,” answered the doctor. “Your system is teeming with hydrophobia microbes. Had I not come here to-night, sir, to-morrow you would have been pawing up a hole for yourself in the back garden——” “Do what you like with me,” interupted the old gentleman. “ I will wire for a nurse,” said the doctor, assuming a business-like air immediately.

Nurse Elsie was wired for to come the next morning. Foote made a grand display of getting the old man to bed. He gave him a draught which might have soothed a baby cutting its first tooth, or might not. When at last the patient slept Foote descended to find his friend. “Is it safe, old fellow? ” was the first question which greeted him. “ Perfectly,” he answered. “ I know my man, Smitherson, don’t you ■worry. Half an eye told me how far I dared go with him. Jove! the poor ok! Johnny has got .it hot, and no mistake.” “ I don’t like it,” said Smitherson. “ Don’t be an ass, George,” answered the doctor. “ What do you take me for?” “ I could hardly believe that he had not got it. Foote, if you’re not careful you’ll frighten him into it, with your stories about microbes running races through his system, and bally rot of that sort.”

“ He Kas got it ” —placidly. “ What! ”

“ He’s got it badly—mentally, of course. By to-morrow all the symptoms will be splendidly developed. Nothing but the workings of an 'imaginative mind on a nervous system which is out of order. Listen to me, George, your uncle hasn’t got hydrophobia—never will have it. Yet in the next twenty-four hours he will, all intents and purposes, pass through a form of it- Then he will recover. By this time next year you will be married to Nurse Elsie and your uncle will be a younger man by twenty years. He wall love to hear dogs bark. I shouldn’t be a bit surprised if he indulged in a pack of bloodhounds.

Foote insisted on meeting Nurse Elsie at the station, which nearly made young Smitherson his enemy for life. George was ordered to remain at home, and give his uncle a soothing draught when he yapped.

Meanwhile Foote leisurely drove pretty Nurse Elsie to her destination, telling her all about the case he wished her to undertake.

There wouldn’t be anything for her to do, he said. But, of course, She must pretend to perform a lot. Within the next few hours she was to save the life of her future husband’s uncle —at least, the old man was to be given the impression she had done this thing for him. She W’as to hover round him; nurse him; tell him he was very bad and soothe him in one breath. She was to reconcile him once and for ever to nurses in general, to herself in particular. “Mind you, nurse,” he added, “I warn you, you’ll be upset when you first see him. He’s a terrifying sight. But don’t be alarmed. When you can’t manage him any longer I’ll give him a sleeping draught. That will finish the whole business, and cure the hydrophobia.” By the time they reached the house George was in a beastly temper.

“Thought you must be lost,” he growled. Of course he was sweet to Elsie. Foote did not allow them a lengthy greeting. He was anxious to get the hydrophobia business well over, though he was enjoying it considerably.” Smitherson junior scowled at him when he marched Elsie off to her work. “Brute!” he muttered. "I believe he wants to marry her himself.” Which shows that Smitherson had grown jealous of his dearest friend—a man w-ho was moving heaven and earth in his service.

They found old Smitherson appar-

ently going through all the horror* of by drophobia. Foote was forced to smile in spite of himself. The old ehap did it so realistically. It was plain to be seen how he had spent the two years since being bitten—reading everything he could about the symptoms and committing them to memory. He trotted them forth in a manner which was screamingly funny, considering there was no trace of the disease about him. Of course, in some instances nature interfered. For instance, in the advanced stages—when the back gets bowed like an arch—try as he would this symptom was a failure. He could yap, and paw, and snap and snarleven once he managed to foam at the mouth with his exertions—but he could not arch his spine. Every now and then he would be overcome with sudden gleams of sensibility. He had one when Nurse Elsie first entered the room. “Take her away,” he said to Foote. “She has come to save your life,” answered the doctor. “Take her away, I say.” She did not go, however, for at that moment he was seized with a choking fit—a symptom of his own. During most of the sensible breaks after that he discoursed on the subject otf nursing women—said how cordially he hated them, and how he had put his foot down on his nephew’s desire to marry one.

Yet, towards the afternoon, when he imagined he was very bad, and that death would soon be his, he began to think that she was an angel.

“I know it is very trying for you, poor dear,” she kept repeating. “But don’t be afraid, I am not going to let you die. I am going to save your life, and then you must do something for me. You must let your nephew marry his little' nurse.” Foote frequently looked in to see how things were going. He filled up the gaps lecturing the grumpy George. “You’re a grateful sort of creature,” he declared. “Snap my head off every time I chance to speak to you. Have I gone to all this trouble for my own amusement, do you think? No; to make you happy for the rest of your miserable life, and you glare at me as if I were a cannibal.” -

He became so unbearable later on in the afternoon that Foote decided it was time to administer the sleeping draught, and allow the youthful lovers to come together for a few hours.

He found Nurse Elsie almost desperate. Her patient was writhing on the bed, declaring that he was dying—dying of hydrophobia, as he had known for two years he would most surely die. Nurse Elsie was trying to persuade him that he was getting better. This was really a fact. He had worn himself out. Nature—in his case—declined to bear any more strain for that day. Before Foote had time to close the door, the old gentleman was asking for a drink of water. His throat was parched, he said. And small wonder, considering the use he had been putting it to. Foote went over and wrung the old chap’s hand. “Sir, I congratulate you!” he exclaimed heartily. “The worst has passed. You feel you can drink water without wanting to break the decanter. I told you Nurse Elsie would save your life, and she has done so. She is the most capable little woman I know.”

Old Smitherson, very red in the face, sat up on the bed. “Is it over?” he asked pathetically. “I fancy so,” answered Foote. “You don’t want to try any more symptoms, do you, sir?” He could hardly keep from exploding, the old chap looked so woebegone, so disappointed that the

terrible thing had ended so easily. He swallowed the contents of a water jug, then whispered sadly that

he thought he could sleep. He would

see the little woman who had saved • his life when he woke up, and try his best to thank her. He slept for three hours. They were spent by the lovers in sweet contentment. Foote spent them kicking his toes against the library fender. The ungrateful couple for whom he had worked so hard had quite forgotten him. At last the patient was awake. Foote went to him first. He felt his pulse, took his temperature. “Most satisfactory,” he murmured. “Mr. Smitherson, you are indeed to be congratulated. You have had it very lightly—l may say phenomenally lightly—and you can never have it again. You have lived in mortal dread of it for two years. Your life must have been a misery, sir, and now, 1 am thankful to say, it has passed away for ever. Take my advice, and get a nice dog wh® will be a companion to you. In fact, a man cannot have too many of them about. Try bloodhounds.” He thanked Dr. Foote most deeply for all he had done; but he seemed so anxious for the presence of pretty Nurse Elsie that Foote soon cleared out.

Smitherson junior thought his uncle must have swallowed the girl up, she was ifcith him so long. She came at last, a happy beam upon her face. “I have told him all.” she said; “all our story, I mean. George, he wants to see you.” They went away together. Half-an-hour later George returned alone. “Foote, old man, wish me luck,” he cried. “We can be married as soon as we like. Thanks to you, old fellow; thanks to you. There’s something awfully funny about it, though.” “Indeed?” “Yes, deuced funny, I can tell you. Elsie is Nora Johnstone. She knew about her father’s dying wish for her to marry me; hated the idea for the same reasons that I did; hid her identity; went into a hospital; met me accidentally; determined not to tell me; fell in love with me, I with her, and ” “Hang you!” interrupted Foote. “So the hydrophobia business wasn’t necessary after all!” “Yes it was, old chap, to bring out the whole story; to cure uncle; to ”

He was addressing thin air. Foote had fled.

A year later they met. “Look here, Foote,” said young Smitherson, “you might as well own ■up. You thoroughly enjoyed that hydrophobia affair?” "Well, suppose I did?” “Come down to our place to-night and pick a bone with us. The missus Will be delighted.”

Foote went.

“Uncle is frightfully fond of doge now,” remarked young Mrs. ISmitherson, when they were half-way through the courses. ’“Doctor, we absolutely cured him between us. He gets younger every day. And he has the weirdest assortment of doge you ever saw in your life. They all worship him.”