Doctor Luttrells First Patient | Page 3

Kensington. Olivia, fagged and weary, looked ready
to cry when she saw the blackened steak and unwholesome chips set
before Marcus. Not one man in a thousand, she thought, would have
borne it all so patiently.
Then one hot oppressive evening the climax came. Olivia, who had
never fainted in her life, found herself to her great astonishment lying
on the little couch by the open window with her face very wet, and
Marcus looking at her with grave professional eyes.
That night he spoke very plainly. There must be no more teaching.
Olivia was simply killing herself, and he refused to sanction such
madness any longer. In future he must be the only breadwinner. Until
patients were obliging enough to send for him, they must just live on
their little capital. Olivia must stay at home, and see after things and
take care of herself, or he would not answer for the consequences.
"You have your husband to consider," he said, in a masterful tone, but
how absurdly boyish he looked, as he stood on the rug, tossing back a
loose wave of fair hair from his forehead. People always thought Dr.
Luttrell younger than he was in reality. He was eight-and-twenty, and
Olivia was six years younger. She was rather taller than her husband,
and had a slim erect figure. She had no claims to beauty; her features
were too irregular, but her clear, honest eyes and sweet smile and a
certain effective dimple redeemed her from plainness, and the soft
brown hair waving naturally over the temples had a sunny gleam in it.
When baby Dot made her appearance--Dorothy Maud Luttrell, as she
was inscribed in the register--the young parents forgot their anxieties
for a time in their joy in watching their first-born.

Marcus left his books to devote himself to nursing his pale wife back to
health. And as Olivia lay on the couch with her baby near her, and
feasted on the delicacies that Aunt Madge's thoughtfulness had
provided, or listened to Marcus as he read to her, it seemed to her, as
though the cup of her blessing were full.
"Oh, Marcus, how happy we are!" she would whisper, and Marcus
would stifle a sigh bravely.
[Illustration: "Oh, Marcus, how happy we are!"]
Alas! he knew the little capital was dwindling sadly--rent and taxes,
bread and cheese, and even the modest wages of a second Martha were
draining his purse too heavily. He had plenty of poor patients, but no
one but the French dressmaker had yet sent for the late Dr. Slade's
partner. It was then that those careworn lines came to the young
doctor's brow.
It was bitterly hard, for Marcus loved his profession, and had studied
hard. The poor people whom he attended were devoted to him.
"He allus tells a body the truth," said old Widow Bates. "I do hate a
fellow who truckles and minces his words like that Sparks. Do you
suppose Jem Arkwright would have let his leg be cut off in that
lamb-like manner if it had been Benjamin Sparks to do it?
"I was down at their place, and I heard when Dr. Luttrell said, 'Now,
my man, you must just make up your mind, and be quick about it. Will
you be a brave chap and part with this poor useless limb, or will you
leave your poor wife to bring up six fatherless children? I am telling
you the truth, Jem. If you will not consent to part with your leg, there is
no chance for you.' Laws' sakes, you would have thought he was a
grey-headed old fellow to hear him; it kind of made one jump to see his
young, beardless face; but there, he was good to Jem Arkwright, that he
was. Polly can't say enough for him. She fairly cries if one mentions his
name.
"'I should have been Jem's widow but for Dr. Luttrell,' she said one day.

'Why, before he came in Jem was lying there vowing "that he had
sooner die than part with his leg." It was the thought of the little uns
that broke him. My Jem always had a feeling heart.'"
And other folks, although they had not Widow Bates's garrulous tongue,
were ready enough to sing the doctor's praises.
When Dot was a year old and able to pull herself up by the help of her
mother's hand, things were no better at the corner house. Olivia had
even consulted her Aunt Madge about the advisability of sending
Martha away and doing the work of the house herself.
"Martha is the best girl we have had yet," she said. "Marcus owned that
yesterday. She is rough, but her ways are nicer than Anne's or Sally's,
and she keeps herself clean; but then, Aunt Madge,