Chapter XVIII Master Harris is Shown Out
One evening, a week or two later, Koko was sitting with his short legs propped up over the Long ’Un’s surgery fire. During a pause in the conversation he observed Jim fumbling in his inner coat pocket.
“Twenty-five,” said Jim, at length, handing his friend that amount in bank-notes; “half what I owe you.”
“Don’t bother about that yet,” said Koko, tossing them back.
“If you don’t take them,” said Jim, in a ferocious tone, “I’ll make you eat them.”
“Try it on, you bully!” returned Koko, springing up.
Jim therefore squeezed the notes up into a round, tight ball, and advanced upon the little man.
“Be careful, my son,” said Koko; “if I hit you, it’ll hurt.”
For answer Jim leapt forward like a bloodhound, seized Koko by his coat-collar, and threw him on to the floor. Koko, however, nimble as a kitten, wriggled through Jim’s legs, overturning the Long ’Un in so doing, and with a dexterous movement seated himself astride Jim’s chest.
Jim puffed and fumed, and tried every trick he could think of to throw off his assailant. But Koko was not easily beaten. A rough-and-tumble with Mortimer was nothing new to him. For some time he resisted Jim’s efforts to dislodge him, and Jim was getting redder in the face every moment.
“Make me eat ’em, will he!” cried Koko, exultingly, addressing Tom, the big cat, who still often followed Jim to the surgery, and was now watching the struggle with grave impartiality. “Not a long lamp-post like this, without enough fat on him to grease a cart-wheel!”
Now, it’s an old sporting saying that a good big ’un is better than a good little ’un—it holds in boxing, wrestling, and many other forms of athletics. Koko was a good little ’un, but Jim was a good big ’un, and, though not of great girth, was immensely strong in the arms and back.
There is also an old saying that you shouldn’t laugh till you’re out of the wood. Jim proved the truth of both sayings on this occasion, for, just as Koko finished his taunting speech, Jim clutched him round the ribs, and, with a prodigious output of nervous energy, threw the little man clean over his head.
Koko flew crash into one of the rotten old pawn-broking cupboards with which the place was lined, and such was the force with which he was impelled that his head and shoulders went right through the door of the cupboard. Before he could extricate himself, Mortimer had pinned his hands to his sides.
“Will you give in?” demanded Jim.
“I will,” murmured Koko from within the cupboard.
“And take what I owe you?”
“Yes—let me out of this old clo’ hole, will you?”
“Certainly.”
Thereupon, with a neat wrench, Jim liberated his friend, and Koko rose to his feet, looking battered and sorry for himself.
“You ought to know better than to scrap with me, young fellow,” said Jim; “you ought to know it’s no use.”
Koko rubbed his bald head ruefully. “Give me a bran mash,” he said; “that winded me.”
“Right you are,” said the Long ’Un, taking a glass jar off one of the shelves.
“Steady!” cried Koko, observing the label on the jar; “that’s prussic acid.”
Jim, however, got two tumblers and proceeded to measure out a couple of drams.
“No—I keep my whisky in this jar,” he said, drawing some fresh water from the tap; “it’s safer here. Mrs Brown, my old lady upstairs, has a liking for whisky, and used to help herself out of my bottle when I was out—so I got a clean jar, put a prussic acid label on it, filled it with whisky, and now she hunts in vain.”
“Smart man, Jim,” laughed Koko, who then proceeded to roll out the notes and put them carefully away in his pocket-book.
“You see,” said Jim, when they had settled themselves down by the fire, “I’ve been catching on about here lately.”
“Cutting out the bearded man?”
“Something like that. I was going down Pine Court soon after you last looked me up, when I saw a group of women talking excitedly round a doorway. I had a case on the top floor of the house. ‘Wot I says is,’ I heard a very fat woman remark, ‘there ain’t no symptoms to go by. ’E guessed it!’
“I always talk to these people, so, as I was passing into the house, I said: ‘Who guessed it?’ They turned to me and began talking all at once, and I gathered from their observations that the fat woman’s little girl was down with what our bearded friend at Taplow’s had diagnosed as small-pox. It appeared that he had made a report to the Medical Officer of Health for this district, and that the hospital people’s ambulance was momentarily expected. The fat woman vehemently declared that our bearded friend was wrong. ‘What makes you think it isn’t small-pox?’ I said. ‘Why, doctor,’ says she, ‘my Annie ain’t been sick, eats ’earty, and sleeps sound, and is well in ’erself. ’E only went by the spots.’ ‘Well,’ I said, ’they’ll tell you at the hospital whether it’s small-pox or not.’ But at that she began painting the air blue with her language, and swore no ambulance men should touch the kid. After a time she asked me to look at the child, but I explained that it was Dr Taplow’s case, and nothing to do with me. She then asked whether a lady couldn’t take two doctors’ opinions on a case, and I replied that a lady certainly could. ‘Well, then,’ says she, ’why shouldn’t a pore woman like me?’ I recognised the justice of this, and, after I’d been to my case, I took a look at the child. I saw at once it wasn’t small-pox——”
“The chicken variety?” put in Koko.
“Not even that—simply blood out of order. I told her the child wanted some medicine and more fresh air. As luck had it, the Medical Officer—old Jackson—awfully nice chap—being scared by the report, came with the ambulance himself, and corroborated my verdict. I had cleared off by then, but the next time I went to Pine Court I found myself famous, and ever since they’ve been coming to me instead of to the bearded pard.”
“Good,” said Koko. “Have you caught him napping again?”
“Curiously enough, I have. He told a woman in Mount Street that her husband—a plumber—was suffering from heart disease. His feet were swollen, and he was pretty bad all over. However, she wasn’t satisfied, and came to me, and I found the fellow really had a congested liver. I dosed him with calomel, and he was running up and down ladders again in a few days.”
“That was another ad.,” said Koko.
“It was,” said Jim. “Have another two-penn’orth?”
Koko nodded, and Jim was reaching for the mislabled bottle, when a quaint metal Chinaman, that stood in the middle of the mantelpiece, fell with a crash on to his face.
“Hullo!” cried Koko, much mystified, for neither he nor Jim had touched the ornament.
Jim laughed. “That’s all right—shows there’s somebody at the front door. You see there’s a bell, but my callers don’t always use it. Some of them like to walk in, as the door opens when you turn the handle. I’ve fixed up an arrangement of string, therefore, which causes that old geezer to fall down when the front door is opened. Quite simple. I’ll show you the dodge in a minute.”
Whilst he had been speaking, Jim had popped the prussic acid jar on its shelf, and opened the door communicating with the waiting-room.
“Ah, Mr Harris! Good evening! Come in!”
The old provision dealer—for it was he—walked into the surgery. Koko made as if he would withdraw, but Jim motioned to him to stop.
“I’m pretty near done, doctor,” said Mr Harris, sinking wearily into a chair; “my ’ead feels as if my ’air was bein’ brushed more than ever. And that velp—’e’s gettin’ more a caution every day. ’E tumbled to my game, and marked the wrong ’orses for me to back—and my money’s all gone. Yes, vot vith ’im and my ’ealth, I vish I vos dead.”
“You don’t get enough fresh air, Mr Harris,” said Jim.
“Fresh air!” cried the old man; “no, not a mouthful. Not likely. That boy—that son of mine—Isaac—’e’s a ’eartless young ’ound. Keeps ’is old father vorkin’ and vorkin’ from seven in the mornin’ till ten at night. Fresh air! Vy, I falls asleep in my chair ven I’ve locked up the shop!”
Koko and Jim looked sympathetic, but made no comment.
“Now ’e’s boss,” proceeded the old dealer—“now ’e’s ‘Arris, and I’m only the Father, there’s no end to the airs he gives ’isself. Wears a red veskit and a big chain and a norty turn-down collar like vot the swells vear, and a check soot vich ’e got second-’and from a bookmaker. There’s no ’oldin’ ’im!” declared Mr Harris, with a groan.
He paused a moment to wag his head sorrowfully, and then again took up the tale of his woes.
“So vot vith Isaac, and vot vith this ’air brushin’ a-always goin’ on on the top of me ’ead, I feel pretty near like throwin’ myself inter the river and settlin’ it all that vay. Not that Isaac vould care—not ’e! ‘E’d bury me as cheap as possible, and think it ’ard lines I vosn’t voshed out to sea instead of bein’ brought ’ome to cause ’im expense!”
“Well, well,” said Jim, soothingly, “I’ll give you some medicine that’ll make you feel very much better, Mr Harris. You’re run down, and that’s why you feel so despondent.”
“The real reason vy,” continued Mr Harris, as Jim got up to prepare the medicine, “I don’t do avay vith myself is, I vant to stay by Isaac’s side and go on varnin’ ’im agen Rebecca Nathan. She’s a designin’ minx—she’s just leadin’ Isaac on to get vot she can out of ’im.”
“What—has your son got a young woman?”
“Young voman! Vy, she’s older than Isaac by ten years, and Isaac’s twenty-four. ‘E’s infatooated, is Isaac. ’E leans ’er photograrf agen the corfee pot an’ sighs venever ’e looks at it, and ’e puts it just vare ’e’ll see it ven ’e vakes in the mornin’. ’E bought her a flash diamond brooch, but she noo better than to be took in that vay, so ’e ’ad to buy ’er a real one. She’s the sharpest bit of female-goods in Mount Street—father keeps the fried-fish shop by the ‘Lord Nelson.’”
“I know the place,” said Jim.
“‘Eaps o’ money,” continued Mr Harris, “but do you think my son Isaac vill ever get even a sniff at it? Not ’e! Rebecca Nathan vill marry a gentleman, doctor dear—she’s only usin’ Isaac!”
“Here’s the medicine, Mr Harris. Take a wine-glassful after each meal.”
“Vell, I don’t believe any medicine in the vorld vill do me any good,” said Mr Harris, “but I’ll take it, so it von’t be vasted. Yes, I’ll be gettin’ back now. That velp Isaac, ’e’s goin’ to take Rebecca to a music-’all—yes, in the two-bob seats. ’E never spent more than sixpence on a seat in ’is life before. Larst veek ’e took ’er to ’ave ’er ’ead told by a phrenologist feller, and then ’e ’ad ’is own told, and came ’ome with it all swelled up because the phrenologist said ’e ’ad a big bump of locality and noo ’is vay about.”
At that moment the surgery bell rang, and directly after the little Chinaman fell bang on to his nose.
Jim opened the door of communication.
“It is your son,” he informed Mr Harris. “Come in,” he added, addressing the caller.
The senior partner of the firm of Harris & Father strutted into the surgery. For Mount Street, his attire was resplendent, though, to be sure, the suit he had bought from the bookmaker seemed a couple of sizes too large for him.
“Fader,” he said, irritably, “’ow much longer am I to vait?”
“I’m comin’, Isaac, I’m comin’,” replied the old Jew, putting on his hat and seizing his medicine with trembling hands; “I vos only takin’ a little advice for my ’ealth, Isaac.”
“You vos takin’ all the evenin’ to take it,” snapped Isaac; “come on—quick!”
The old man nodded hurriedly to Jim and Koko, and left the surgery.
The young Jew turned to Jim.
“See ’ere,” he said. “Ven my fader comes ’ere, send him ’ome sharp. That’s ’is place—’ome.”
“Your father is not at all well,” said Jim, “so when he comes here I shall allow him to stay as long as he likes, if that is any comfort to him.”
“You’ve a nice sauce,” said Master Harris, who felt very brave in his loud toggery.
For reply, Jim inserted one finger inside Master Harris’s collar, conducted him (held thuswise) to the front door, and shot him into the street. And when Jim discovered that Miss Rebecca Nathan was waiting outside for Master Harris, and thus witnessed the latter’s discomfiture, he laughed a great laugh, and walked back to the surgery little thinking that his short way with Isaac Harris was destined to bring dire ill upon himself.