Buried Alive | Page 5

somewhat sardonic, partly because he was
convinced that only the gluttony of South Kensington provided him
with a livelihood, but more because his wife and two fully-developed
daughters spent too much on their frocks. For years, losing sight of the
fact that he was an immortal soul, they had been treating him as a
breakfast-in-the-slot machine: they put a breakfast in the slot, pushed a
button of his waistcoat, and drew out banknotes. For this, he had
neither partner, nor assistant, nor carriage, nor holiday: his wife and

daughters could not afford him these luxuries. He was able,
conscientious, chronically tired, bald and fifty. He was also, strange as
it may seem, shy; though indeed he had grown used to it, as a man gets
used to a hollow tooth or an eel to skinning. No qualities of the young
girl's heart about the heart of Dr. Cashmore! He really did know human
nature, and he never dreamt of anything more paradisaical than a
Sunday Pullman escapade to Brighton.
Priam Farll opened the door which divided these two hesitating men,
and they saw each other by the light of the gas lamp (for the hall was in
darkness).
"This Mr. Farll's?" asked Dr. Cashmore, with the unintentional asperity
of shyness.
As for Priam, the revelation of his name by Leek shocked him almost
into a sweat. Surely the number of the house should have sufficed.
"Yes," he admitted, half shy and half vexed. "Are you the doctor?"
"Yes."
Dr. Cashmore stepped into the obscurity of the hall.
"How's the invalid going on?"
"I can scarcely tell you," said Priam. "He's in bed, very quiet."
"That's right," said the doctor. "When he came to my surgery this
morning I advised him to go to bed."
Then followed a brief awkward pause, during which Priam Farll
coughed and the doctor rubbed his hands and hummed a fragment of
melody.
"By Jove!" the thought flashed through the mind of Farll. "This chap's
shy, I do believe!"
And through the mind of the doctor, "Here's another of 'em, all nerves!"

They both instantly, from sheer good-natured condescension the one to
the other, became at ease. It was as if a spring had been loosed. Priam
shut the door and shut out the ray of the street lamp.
"I'm afraid there's no light here," said he.
"I'll strike a match," said the doctor.
"Thanks very much," said Priam.
The flare of a wax vesta illumined the splendours of the puce
dressing-gown. But Dr. Cashmore did not blench. He could flatter
himself that in the matter of dressing-gowns he had nothing to learn.
"By the way, what's wrong with him, do you think?" Priam Farll
inquired in his most boyish voice.
"Don't know. Chill! He had a loud cardiac murmur. Might be anything.
That's why I said I'd call anyhow to-night. Couldn't come any sooner.
Been on my feet since six o'clock this morning. You know what it
is--G.P.'s day."
He smiled grimly in his fatigue.
"It's very good of you to come," said Priam Farll with warm, vivacious
sympathy. He had an astonishing gift for imaginatively putting himself
in the place of other people.
"Not at all!" the doctor muttered. He was quite touched. To hide the
fact that he was touched he struck a second match. "Shall we go
upstairs?"
In the bedroom a candle was burning on a dusty and empty
dressing-table. Dr. Cashmore moved it to the vicinity of the bed, which
was like an oasis of decent arrangement in the desert of comfortless
chamber; then he stooped to examine the sick valet.
"He's shivering!" exclaimed the doctor softly.

Henry Leek's skin was indeed bluish, though, besides blankets, there
was a considerable apparatus of rugs on the bed, and the night was
warm. His ageing face (for he was the third man of fifty in that room)
had an anxious look. But he made no movement, uttered no word, at
sight of the doctor; just stared, dully. His own difficult breathing alone
seemed to interest him.
"Any women up?"
The doctor turned suddenly and fiercely on Priam Farll, who started.
"There's only ourselves in the house," he replied.
A person less experienced than Dr. Cashmore in the secret
strangenesses of genteel life in London might have been astonished by
this information. But Dr. Cashmore no more blenched now than he had
blenched at the puce garment.
"Well, hurry up and get some hot water," said he, in a tone dictatorial
and savage. "Quick, now! And brandy! And more blankets! Now don't
stand there, please! Here! I'll go with you to the kitchen. Show me!" He
snatched up the candle, and the expression of his features said, "I can
see you're no good in a crisis."
"It's all up with me, doctor," came a faint whisper