At a little before this time a sufficiently
epoch-making scene had taken place between Dr. Mangan
and his daughter, following not long on that day when
the elephant had conveyed his captive to the depths
of the jungle.
“Tishy!” said the Big
Doctor, looming large at the door of the dining-room
where his daughter was engaged in trimming a hat, “come
down to the surgery a minute; I want you.”
The feather to which Miss Mangan had
just imparted the correct “set,” was only
fixed in position with a precarious pin, none the less,
Tishy, albeit vexed, did not delay. She had a
well-founded respect for the Fifth Commandment, as
far, at all events, as her father was concerned.
She abandoned the hat, and followed the Doctor through
the narrow hall-passage and into the surgery, with
a promptness that she was not wont to exhibit in obeying
an order that was not convenient.
Dr. Mangan had seated himself at his
desk, and was writing. Tishy stood by the seat
dedicated to patients; she wished to imply that she
had been interrupted in her work, and that her time
was of value.
“There now,” said Dr.
Mangan, thumping the envelope that he had just closed
and directed, on the blotting-paper, with his big fist,
“I want you to run round to Hallinan’s
with this for me.”
“Is it a hurry?” asked Tishy, unwillingly.
“It is. It’s to order
rooms for Larry Coppinger. He’s coming to
stay in town till the election’s over.
Sit down there a minute.”
Tishy obeyed, and the Doctor surveyed
her attentively. The position that is assigned
to patients in a doctor’s consulting room is
one that faces the light, pitilessly, inescapably;
but for Tishy, this was a negligible disadvantage.
A peacock butterfly looks its best in sunlight, and
Tishy’s dark bloom, and intent eyes of luminous
grey, faced the glare of October sunlight with confident
unconcern.
“A right-down handsome girl!”
he had called her, to himself, more than-once; now,
he thought, she had good looks enough for any man in
Europe. It was not his habit to betray his feelings;
but as he sat there, appraising her, weighing her
beauty, as a jeweller might appraise some rich-hued
ruby that a kind fate had placed in his hands, sheer
pride in her made him smile, and he was hard put to
it to keep up the severity that he believed the occasion
exacted.
“I’ve a couple of things
to say to you,” he resumed, “and you know
as well as I do that I’ve no fancy for saying
things twice. I’ve seen Ned Cloherty sneaking
about the Mall very often lately like as
if he was waiting for somebody. I’m not
saying it’s for you or me he’s waiting;
you might know that better than I do. But he’s
no great ornament to the view there, or anywhere else,
as far as I can see!”
Tishy put her strong, rounded chin
in the air, and said, “I suppose other people
have a right to use the roads as well as us!”
The Doctor was glad that his face
was shadowed, as he noted the arrogant tilt of her
head, and the smooth, cream-white pillar of her neck
that it revealed, since the smile of paternal pride
would not be denied. He didn’t blame Ned
Cloherty to be sneaking about after her; there wasn’t
her like in the county. But she very certainly
was too good for the likes of Ned Cloherty. “Now,
Babsey,” he said, and Tishy knew that the old
pet name denoted a satisfaction with her that might
not otherwise betray itself, “you’re a
sensible girl, and I needn’t go out of my way
to tell you things that you’re smart enough to
see for yourself. You’re ’pert enough
without Latin’ as they say! Well,
I’ll just say one other thing to you, and it’s
this. Larry Coppinger’s up for this election,
and I’ve told him to use this house, like his
own, as much as he wants to,” the Doctor stood
up and took a pocket-book from the breast-pocket of
his coat. “You’re to make it agreeable
for him to come here. Mind that! And more
than agreeable! I’ll think very little
of you if you don’t have him at your feet before
you’re done with him!” he went on, selecting
something from among the papers in the pocket-book
as he spoke. “There’s not a girl in
Ireland that wouldn’t half hang herself for
the chance you’ll have! And there’s
not a girl in Cluhir but will be gibeing you if you
lose it!” He took a step towards where Tishy
was sitting, and put his hand under his chin.
Her bright water-grey eyes were alight
with mutiny; she laughed defiantly.
“Suppose I don’t want it!”
Her father looked steadily at her;
he saw, as clearly as if she had spoken, that the
suggestion had excited her.
“Well, Babs,” he said,
with the laugh that always seemed an octave higher
than matched with his voice, “if you’re
able to bring him to your feet and I’m
not saying you will! You might find it a bit of
a job too! you’ll want a dandy pair
of shoes on them! Put this in your pocket.”
He had taken a ten-pound note out
of his pocket-book, and he pushed it into Tishy’s
strong and supple white hand.